Chasing Redemption
by Prisoner 24601
Summary: Post KoTOR. Sequel to "From the Ashes," featuring a Carth/f!Revan romance. *Incomplete* and unfinished.
1. A Hard Truth

A/N: This post-KoTOR fic is a follow-up story to my version of what happened in the game (_From the Ashes_). While I don't think it is necessary to have read the previous story, I'm giving readers fair warning now, some things happen somewhat differently in _From the Ashes_ than they do in the actual game. Since _Chasing Redemption_ is a direct sequel, those events will be alluded to in this story.

Feedback is greatly appreciated. What you liked/didn't like, what you thought worked didn't work is especially helpful.

Also, I think it is only fair to mention that I have discovered that I am a rather slow writer and it may take me up to a month (or more) to update my story. However, I will try to update as often as possible. You have been warned...

In addition, the events of this game may clash with that KoTOR 2 says happened to Revan in the five years between games. Since I have a pc and not an xbox, I won't know what happens in KoTOR 2 until February, so when the game comes out on the xbox, please don't spoil me.

Finally, big thank you to xenzen and Lord Valentai for the beta.

Disclaimer: I own none of this. I'm just playing with George Lucas' & Bioware's lovely toys. So please, don't sue me.

* * *

_**Chasing Redemption**_

_**Prologue - A Hard Truth**_

The salty sea breeze ruffled Carth's hair, blowing away the smell of blood, sweat and death that lingered on his clothing. He looked down at Min, or Revan, as her name once was, wrapped in his arms. With her head tucked under his chin and her cheek resting against his armored chest, she watched Malak's body burn to the peaceful sound of the surf slapping against the sandy beach below. The dying fire was the only light in the dark, inky night.

Shifting his sore, stiff body into a more comfortable position, Carth resolved to stay with her for as long as she needed him. Although he was bone-weary, and his shoulders and back ached, he didn't say a word. Min wanted to stay, and that was enough for him. The blazing funeral pyre had burned down to glowing embers, and Malak's body was nothing but a burned, charred husk.

They had yet to report to the main fleet, since Min had insisted that they come to the Rakatan planet immediately after the destruction of the Star Forge. The crew had done as she'd asked, building a funeral pyre for her former lover, best friend, apprentice, and enemy. One by one the others had returned to the _Ebon Hawk_, leaving the two of them alone on the cliff.

At his movement, she looked up and studied his face. Her eyes, so brown they were almost black, were tired, sad and full of regret. Her cheek was still smeared with Malak's blood.

"I'm sorry, Carth."

He started to speak, but she covered his lips with her fingers to silence him. "I don't know any words that are adequate. I'm sorry for being Revan, I'm sorry for dragging you into this mess, and I'm sorry that you fell in love with me." Trembling, she hung her head, but he saw the painful self-loathing in her eyes before she looked away. "I don't know how to make it right, but you deserve better than this. If I had known-"

He cupped her chin in his hand so that she'd have to look him in the eye. "But you didn't know, and I don't regret this. That's all in the past," he stated firmly. He wasn't a fool. He knew that it might take her a long time to become whole again, but he simply refused to allow her to give in to despair.

She gave him a look so filled with grief that it tied his stomach into painful, twisted knots. "No, Carth, it's not." She swallowed, and Carth could tell that she was steeling herself for something, but her next words confused the hell out of him.

"Please don't fight them."

"Who? What?" he sputtered as she pulled away.

Any answer she might have made was cut off by the whine of heavy blasters powering up. Bright lights hit him directly in the face, momentarily blinding him, and a gruff, authoritative voice came crashing out of the silent darkness. "Revan, you are surrounded. Step away from Captain Onasi."

He was shocked, but Min wasn't. Carth realized that she must have felt them approach.

As she stepped back, she met his eyes; her own eyes were filled with resigned sorrow. "You didn't think they were going to just let me go, did you?"

An entire patrol of Republic Special Forces troopers materialized out of nowhere. All of their weapons were trained on Min. Carth recognized their insignia, and knew that they were the toughest squad in the Republic Fleet. He knew from experience that for every one that he could see, two were concealed.

A hard, wiry man, all lines and angles, dressed all in black and carrying enough weapons to make Canderous envious, was the owner of the voice. Carth figured that the guy must be the squad leader. "Both of you, keep your hands where we can see them." At that, Min complied, holding her hands in front of her for them to see.

Carth focused on the squad leader as the subject of his anger. "Wait a minute-"

"Captain Onasi. Please step back."

"_No!_"

"We have orders from Admiral Dodonna to bring Revan in. Do not interfere." The squad leader's tone of voice told Carth that he was beginning to lose patience, but Carth didn't give a damn.

He stepped between Min and the squad leader. "Wait, damn it! You can't do this-"

She touched his shoulder gently. "Please, Carth, do what they say."

He struggled to keep his temper, his jaw set in an implacable line. "I'm not going to let them lead you away like you're some kind of criminal!"

Her words hit him like a blow to the face, because, deep down, he knew they were true. "But that's what I am."

"Captain Onasi, we can do this the easy way, or the hard way."

He heard a commotion as Jolee, Juhani, Canderous and the rest of the _Ebon Hawk's_ crew came into view and more soldiers materialized out of the brush, surrounding them warily. Lights blazed from the brush, blinding the crew as lightsabers ignited and weapons were drawn. Locked in a standoff, Zaalbar roared in protest while Mission shouted insults at the troopers. Jolee, Juhani and Bastila were grimly silent while Canderous sneered as he trained his repeater on the nearest soldiers.

"Stop!" Min shouted at her companions. "Lower your weapons and don't interfere!"

After a few tense seconds of silence, Jolee shook his head and snapped his lightsaber off. The others reluctantly followed his lead, except for Canderous, who still had his repeater ready to fire. But Min barked something sharp at Canderous in Mandalorian, and he reluctantly lowered his weapon.

"You can't do this!" Carth insisted, as though repeating those words would get them to listen. Min limped around him, her leg still wounded from her battle with Malak, and came forward, hands out in a non-threatening gesture. Several troopers took advantage of her movement and stepped between her and Carth.

"We can and we will." The squad leader carefully unhooked the lightsabers from her belt. "If you have a problem with it, take it up with the Admiral. She's ordered you to report to her ASAP."

It was Jolee's words that kept Carth from completely losing his temper and doing something rash. "Keep your cool, kid. You can't help her this way. We'll talk to the Admiral and clear this up, all right?"

The squad leader grabbed Min's wrists roughly, and locked her hands behind her with metal binders. Carth clenched his hands into tight fists. Every instinct he had told him to deck the man, grab Min and run, but Carth knew Jolee was right. While they would probably be able to get away, that wasn't the answer.

Min looked at him one last time before they snapped the neural disrupter around her neck with a sharp click. Her intense dark eyes turned mindless and glassy, and Carth's chest tightened painfully.

Carth watched, helpless, as they led her away into the night.


	2. Bitter Reunions

_**Chapter One – Bitter Reunions**_

**Coruscant: Two Years Later**

Padawan Dustil Onasi sat at a table in the large reception hall, trying not to fidget in his long brown dress robes. It was difficult to stay still, since the wool itched and the high collar chafed his skin. Sighing, he resigned himself to at least an hour of boring speeches that were due to start at any minute, as soon as dinner was served by the bustling serving droids. While he waited, Dustil studied the dinner guests, his fingers longing for his sketchpad. This being a Republic state dinner where the guests were Senators, high-ranking military officers and members of the Jedi Order, the people watching made for a very interesting way to pass the time.

Fine china clinked softly as small talk buzzed throughout the room. Brown and ivory Jedi robes mixed with the Fleet's orange, yellow and black uniforms. Senators and their staffs stood out in their multi-colored finery from the plain robes of the Jedi and the dour military uniforms, like pretty, colorful songbirds among hawks and sleek predators.

But even with all of the interesting, important and influential people to observe, there was one person who kept drawing his attention, no matter how much he tried to ignore her. She sat at a table near the front of the hall, in between Master Vrook and Canderous Ordo.

_Revan._

Dustil struggled to control the powerful mixture of emotions that he felt when he saw her; hatred and rage mixed with a strange sense of guilt that he did not understand, followed by intense curiosity. Since he'd first met her on Korriban, he'd only seen her a handful of times.

Revan and Jedi Knight Bastila Shan had spent most of the last two years since the fall of the Star Forge at Admiral Dodonna's side in the Republic Fleet, using the deadly combination of Bastila's battle meditation and Min's tactical knowledge to mop up the remnants of the Sith war machine. However, he'd seen her more frequently now that she'd been returned to the custody of the Jedi Council. It was strange, passing her in the hallway and seeing her in the training rooms, as though she were just another Jedi Knight, and not the woman responsible for tearing his life apart.

Noticing the empty chair at Revan's table, he wondered where Jedi Shan was. His cheeks began to heat as his thoughts turned to the young Jedi Knight, and he wondered if the rumors about Jedi Shan and his father were true.

Master Jolee Bindo pinned him with a wry look, as though he knew exactly what was going on in Dustil's mind. Dustil had learned the hard way that Jolee was downright crafty, and Dustil didn't doubt that the old man probably _did_ know what was going on in his head. He wondered if Jolee was going to make some cryptic and irritating remark, or come up with one of his infamous stories.

But Jolee remained silent, frowning slightly as his intelligent eyes swept over the padawans sitting at his table: Dustil, Kel and Mekel, all three who'd been "rescued" by Revan and the crew of the now legendary _Ebon Hawk_ from the Sith Academy on Korriban. Dustil had hoped that the Council would assign Jolee as his Jedi Master, but instead the Council put him under the instruction of Jedi Master Zhar. Although he'd been disappointed, he was happy that it was Master Zhar, and not one of the stricter members of the Order.

In the end, Dustil was happy with the choice, since Zhar was an excellent teacher. Patient, intelligent and kind, he was everything that his former Sith Masters said was weak. After nearly two years under Master Zhar's guidance, Dustil was only just beginning to see how very wrong the Sith were.

Master Quatra, a tall female Zabrak, Jedi Knight Belaya and Master Zhar were deep in conversation on the other side of the table, and Dustil couldn't make out what they were saying. His friends, Kel and Mekel, were busy checking out women.

Dustil's attention was captured by the slight commotion from the doorway behind him. He didn't have to turn around to see who it was, because he could sense his father's strong, steady and unmistakable presence in the Force. Carth's powerful strides ate up the distance between Dustil's table and the door quickly, and Dustil watched as people stopped talking and stared in awe and admiration as his father approached. Dustil fought to keep the sneer off his face and the roll out of his eyes when several nearby ladies practically swooned.

Dustil had heard that his father's flagship had been delayed in its return from Kuat, and he'd hoped that Carth wouldn't be able to make it tonight. Unfortunately, that didn't seem to be the case.

Ignoring the commotion he'd caused, Carth flashed his son a tired smile, and took the seat in between Dustil and Jolee that Kel had vacated in some errant, misguided effort to be nice. While Kel settled into the empty seat that was to be occupied by Juhani when she arrived, Dustil cursed his friend's niceness that forced him to deal with his father.

Before Carth could speak, one of the High Admiral's aides, a young lieutenant not much older than Dustil, appeared. "Admiral Onasi, High Admiral Dodonna requests that you take your place at the head table."

His father favored the aide with a tight smile. "Tell High Admiral Dodonna that I respectfully decline," his father said, in a rather disrespectful voice that caught Dustil completely off-guard. "I'm going to sit with my son tonight."

The aide looked like he'd rather be shot than return to Dodonna with that information. But Carth just stared at him in ruthless silence, until the lieutenant saluted and strode off reluctantly to the long table at the front of the hall where Carth was supposed to be seated.

"Um, maybe you'd better go, Dad," Dustil said, hoping that duty would win out and his father would leave. "Besides, where's Juhani going to sit?"

Unfortunately, Jolee interfered. "Don't be a half-wit. Juhani won't mind, unlike Admiral Dodonna." The three men watched as the nervous lieutenant returned to the head table, leaned over the High Admiral's shoulder and delivered the news. High Admiral Dodonna's lips thinned as she shot Carth a highly exasperated look. She waved an irritated hand at the lieutenant, dismissing him.

Jolee chuckled softly as he offered Carth his hand. "Making waves, kid?"

Dustil shook his head, amused by Jolee's audacity. By the look on his face, Dustil could tell that his father was equally entertained. Only Jolee would call a forty-year-old Fleet Admiral, 'kid.' Carth shook Jolee's hand, grinning at the old Jedi. "Something like that."

"Do you think she'll order you to the high table?" Jolee asked, as he glanced not-so-subtly over at the High Admiral.

"She can't." At Jolee's raised eyebrows, Carth offered an explanation. "My resignation from the Fleet is effective today."

Dustil looked at his father in shock. "You resigned? Why?" He never thought he'd see the day his father resigned from the military. Bitter resentment nearly choked him.

_About six years too late, Father!_

Dustil ignored the little voice in the back of his mind that reminded him that his father had offered to resign two years ago, if Dustil had wished it.

"Since the Sith retreated back to their sector, I've been doing nothing but endless administrative work. I'm tired of attending endless parties, diplomatic missions, Senate committees." Carth looked across the room and his jaw settled into a hard, implacable line as his brown eyes blazed in anger. The words were bit out harshly, "I'm just...done."

Dustil's eyes narrowed suspiciously. He followed his father's gaze across the room and was unsurprised to see that it had landed on Revan. The emotions coming off of his father were tangled, powerful and overwhelming. Dustil slammed his mental shields up, not really wanting to know what they were.

He knew that the two of them had been lovers; his father had been honest about that from the start, when they had met up again on Coruscant two years ago. It was something he should have guessed, given the way the two had acted around each other after their escape from Korriban. Dustil had felt like an idiot, since his father's feelings were so amazingly transparent, but he'd been too focused on being jealous of Mission at the time. That and he'd mistakenly believed that Revan and Jedi Shan were lovers. It was Mekel and Kel who'd pointed out the obvious on their trip to Coruscant, but he hadn't truly believed it until he'd met up with his father again. Finding out that Min Avery was really Revan added to his already considerable anger with Carth.

What he didn't know was what the hell had happened between his father and Revan shortly after the military had returned her to Coruscant to stand trial, but ultimately, he really didn't care. In the end, the argument was moot, since they weren't together and hadn't been for nearly two years. It was what made his father's presence in his life palatable; he wouldn't have been able to stand it if Revan had come as part of the package. The only reason he even tolerated his father was because he knew that his mother would have wanted them to get along, but it had been a long and rocky road. It looked like it was about to get rockier.

_Right, Dad._ _I'm sure it's got nothing to do with her. You resign from the Fleet just weeks after she's transferred back to the custody of the Jedi Order._

It pissed him off to no end that his father would resign for _that_ _bitch_, when he hadn't done it for his mother. Dustil half-heartedly recited the Jedi Code in his mind, trying to keep his emotions in check. Although he really didn't want to, he kept silent, knowing that this was neither the time nor place for this argument to happen.

Tearing his gaze away from Revan, his father changed the subject, and Carth's features smoothed out as he tried to rein in his temper. Still, his father's anger at the Jedi was a surprise, and Dustil wondered if he might be mistaken as he considered the rumors about his father and Jedi Shan. He wasn't sure which idea made him more upset, the idea of his father with Revan, or the idea of his father with Bastila.

_But if they were true, he would have told me, wouldn't he?_

Carth turned his attention back to Dustil. "They've offered me an instructor's position at the new Fleet Academy. I haven't decided if I'm going to take it." As Dustil digested this news, his father changed the subject again and asked, "So, is my speeder still in one piece?" Other than the _Ebon Hawk_, his father's only other major possession was a brand-new, wicked black K-191 speeder, which Dustil was allowed to use whenever his father was off planet.

Caving in to the completely juvenile need to push his father's buttons, Dustil grinned evilly. "Mostly. We drove it here tonight."

Carth returned the evil grin with a wry look. "'Mostly'? What do you mean, mostly?"

Ignoring the kick from under the table that came from Mekel's direction, Dustil answered, "You might want to replace the grav-brakes."

Instead of angering his father like Dustil had intended, his father actually chuckled. "Really? And why would I need to do that?"

"Because we took it racing last night." And the three of them had nearly gotten killed, as the high-performance speeder had spun out of control as Dustil had tried cornering it too fast. Only the liberal use of the grav-brakes and Dustil's abilities with the Force had prevented him from becoming a smear on the side of one of Coruscant's kilometer-tall buildings. Dustil decided judiciously not to mention that part of the story.

Before his father could say anything, Master Quatra, whom Dustil had completely forgotten about, spoke, disapproval ringing in her precise, careful tone as she turned to Master Zhar. "You allow your padawans to race speeders in their free time?"

Kel and Mekel shot Dustil a pair of murderous looks, and Dustil knew that he was going to get some serious grief later from the two of them.

One of Master Zhar's lekku flicked in a gesture that Dustil interpreted as astonishment, although both Zhar's face and tone were outwardly bland. "You went racing last night?"

Dustil tried his best to look repentant, realizing that his desire to irk his father had not only failed, but had backfired, since he'd forgotten his Master was sitting right there. His cheeks burned in embarrassment. "Um... yes."

Master Zhar turned his intense gaze on the three young men. "Mmm," was all he said, but Dustil began to squirm and fidget in embarrassment.

Jolee turned to Carth. "I'm wondering why a Fleet Admiral feels the need to own a hot rod speeder in the first place. Suffering from a mid-life crisis, are we?"

Carth chuckled, looking far from offended, and had opened his mouth to retort when Master Quatra's harsh voice cut across the table, startling everyone with her vehemence. "Truly, Zhar, you give your padawans far too much freedom." Her eyes darted over to where Revan was seated, her lips thinning. "We all know where this type of behavior leads."

_I don't believe it! She's comparing me to Revan!_

Amazingly, his father leapt to his defense, and Dustil was torn between gratitude and annoyance. "Are you saying that my son is in danger of falling to the dark side because he and his friends went for a little joyride?" Although Master Quatra had schooled her features to change disapproval to Jedi serenity, Dustil could feel the atmosphere around the table go from friendly to frosty at his father's next statement. "That's the stupidest thing I've ever heard."

Silently, Dustil agreed with his father. Jolee wasn't so silent in his agreement. "Don't you think you're overreacting just a tad, Quatra?"

_If by 'tad', you mean completely._ Dustil kept that thought to himself, grateful that the intense, harsh Zabrak was not his master.

"No, I do not," she stated firmly and unequivocally, her tattooed face betraying her annoyance at Jolee's disagreement. "Revan constantly indulged in this type of rule-breaking behavior when she was a padawan, and we can see what happened to her."

"Yeah." Contempt dripped from Carth's voice. "She saved the Republic. Three times." Carth shook his head, disgust written across his features. "She had the guts to break the rules and go against the Order to help us fight the Mandalorians."

"Yes, but she also became a Dark Lord of the Sith," Quatra sniped, stating the obvious. "While it may seem harmless to you, small instances of undisciplined behavior, if unchecked, will lead to larger and larger liberties." She turned to Zhar and forced her point home, "If you and Vrook had disciplined her more and not allowed her to run free, it is possible that her fall to the dark side wouldn't have happened."

"We don't know that," Jolee interjected, brows furrowed in disapproval. "No one knows for certain why she fell to the dark side. Even she doesn't know."

Belaya spoke up for the first time, unsurprisingly in support of her former Master. "It's obvious. Jedi Revan, in her arrogant conceit, went against the wishes of the Council time and time again. She fell to the dark side because she was undisciplined, and when faced with temptation, she was unable to turn away."

Dustil got the distinct impression he had blundered into the middle of an ongoing argument when Jolee shook his head and sighed. "That is a gross oversimplification of a rather complex issue."

Quatra sniffed. "Nonsense! If the Council had used stricter training methods-"

"Like the training methods you used with Juhani?" Carth snorted in disgust. "Yeah, we all saw how well _that_ worked."

A dark red flush stained the Zabrak's cheeks at his father's words. Jedi serenity abandoned, her lip curled into near snarl. "What could _you_ possibly know about Jedi training methods?"

Carth crossed his arms as he fired off his words like blaster shots. "Lady, I saw what you did to Juhani. I was there when Min found her after you tricked Juhani into thinking she'd killed you, and then abandoned her. She was suffering in a grove by herself, scared, angry and confused. You left her there for over a month and did nothing, as some kind of stupid test." Dustil realized that the argument was drawing covert looks from nearby tables, but his father didn't seem to care. "If that's your idea of training, then you need to stay the hell away from my son!"

Before Dustil could decide whether to be angry or pleased with his father's overprotective attitude, Quatra shot back, "This type of interference is one of the reasons why emotional attachments to family members are discouraged." She turned her attention back to Master Zhar. "I do not know why you allow your padawans to indulge in these types of relationships. There is no way that outsiders could possibly understand our methods-"

"_Indulge_ in relationships?" Carth snapped back, anger bubbling over at her dismissive attitude towards family. "I'm his _father_, sister! And I understand your methods just fine-"

"Enough." Master Zhar's soft but authoritative voice cut across the table, demanding attention. "Quatra, your objections are noted. Perhaps later, at a more appropriate time, we can discuss them further." Quatra's lips thinned, but she swallowed any retort she might have made, glaring instead at Carth with intense dislike. From the look on his father's face, the feeling was clearly mutual.

Fortunately, any further conversation was cut short as dinner was finally served. As the first Republic speaker took the podium, attentive silence settled over the room, but Dustil barely heard a word that was spoken, his mind still buzzing from his father's words.

* * *

Min shifted uncomfortably in her chair as she tried to ignore Carth's presence, while Admiral Dodonna, the last speaker of the night, thankfully, began her speech. It was terribly difficult, because even when she wasn't looking at him she could feel his unmistakable presence through her Force senses, calling for her attention. Realizing that she was simply unable to ignore him, she drew her Force senses inward, throwing up a mind block so that she could no longer feel anything through the Force outside of a radius of a few meters around her. 

It helped the situation only marginally, since not being able to sense him though the Force perversely made her want to turn around and look at him. But she could feel the weight of his accusing eyes on her back from across the room, so she tried, unsuccessfully, to focus her attention on Admiral Dodonna's speech.

The occasion for the Republic finery was the second anniversary of the destruction of the Star Forge, coupled with the opening of the new Republic Fleet Academy. While Min hated banquets, she figured that she couldn't complain. One of the very few positives of being a former war criminal was that political banquets weren't something that she usually had to deal with.

However, the Fleet brass and the Jedi Order had told her, in no uncertain terms, that she had to come tonight. Given the terribly strained relations between the Jedi Order, the Republic Fleet and the Republic Senate, tonight's event was important. The outward show of solidarity would hopefully strengthen the precarious position of the Jedi Order, a situation that had been caused in large part by herself, most recently by the controversy in the Senate over her pardon. Her recent pardon had passed in the Senate by a mere three votes, and had included a whole list of restrictions. Still, at least she wouldn't have to stand trial and face execution. While she wasn't exactly free, she was at least alive.

Even with all of the influential and powerful people pushing for her pardon, it probably wouldn't have happened if it hadn't been for the siege of Alderaan. Two years ago, after the destruction of the Star Forge, she'd been taken into custody by the Republic military and brought back to Coruscant, and charged by the Senate as a traitor and a war criminal.

However, before her trial could begin, fate, luck or the Force intervened. The remaining Sith forces, freed from the tactical clumsiness of Darth Malak's leadership, attacked the Republic, whose fleet had been seriously weakened by the ravages of two wars and the costly victory at the Star Forge. As the Republic focused on Min's trial, the Sith began to push towards the Core Worlds in a series of precise, brilliant and relentless attacks, under the direction of Grand Admiral Prest. The weakened and overextended Republic Fleet could barely keep up with his attacks.

The attacks culminated in a twenty-seven day standoff over the planet of Alderaan. The Senate petitioned the Jedi Council for help, specifically the use of Bastila's battle meditation. The Jedi Order, angry that Min had not been turned over to their custody, refused them. It was Carth and Bastila who had finally hammered out an agreement with the Senate; Bastila would use her battle meditation, with the help of Min's tactical knowledge, in exchange for Min's eventual pardon. In addition, Carth would take the rank of Admiral that he'd refused. Desperate, the Senate agreed.

With Min's tactical knowledge directing Bastila's battle meditation, the Sith armada was devastated. Bit by bit, the Sith were pushed back into their sector in less than seventeen months. But even though their end of the bargain had been upheld, the Senate almost didn't pardon her. After some serious pressure, arm twisting, blackmail and promises by the Jedi Council, High Admiral Dodonna, Carth, Bastila and several Senators of planets that had been saved because of her, they had eventually prevailed. In the end, she had been returned to the custody of the Jedi Order.

Since she owed her life and her quasi-freedom to many of the people in this room, she had agreed to come tonight, despite the fact that she would rather gnaw off her own leg than attend. Min looked over at Bastila's empty chair, and felt a momentary twinge of envy that the young Jedi had somehow managed to escape this exquisite torture.

Min reached through the thin, gossamer thread of their shared Force bond, searching for Bastila. What she felt on the other end was simmering impatience.

Curious as to what could be agitating the Jedi Princess, Min touched Bastila's mind. _How's it coming?_

_Terribly. Ambassador Rzadi has kept us waiting now for over an hour and a half! I am afraid that she is going to cancel our appointment again. Both Juhani and Yuthura are rather...upset. _

The mental image flashed into Min's mind, of Juhani pacing along a marble-tiled corridor, hair bristling and fangs flashing, while Yuthura sat in coiled serenity, her irritation betrayed as she tapped one sharp nail against the datapad in her hand. Padawan Thalia May, one of the former Korriban students, sat in attentive silence.

_At least you have an excuse not to be here. _Min tried to keep her thoughts light and nonchalant, shielding the younger woman from her turbulent thoughts of a certain Republic Admiral.

_We planned on coming._ Min could feel Bastila's guilt flow through the bond over the perceived neglect of her duty. _The Council must be displeased._

_The Council will survive. Take my advice and use this as an excuse not to come. Go ahead and play hooky, just this once. _Min's gaze swept across the room. Even though the banquet had been going on for almost two hours by this point, many guests were still clearly uncomfortable with her presence. She'd endured their frightened, distrustful stares and whispers in silence, wishing that she were anyplace but here. But she knew it would be worse for Bastila, since she'd been heralded, along with Carth, as a savior of the Republic. Her fall to the dark side, amazingly, was still a secret from the general public. In some ways, Min figured that Bastila had the real raw deal. _Trust me, you don't want to be here._

Wry amusement flashed briefly though the link. _You are a very bad influence._

Min's lips twitched as she suppressed a chuckle. _I try._

Admiral Dodonna began to wrap up her speech, and Min knew that her full attention would be required for the meet and greet afterward. _I should go. Good luck with the Ambassador. _

_There is no such thing as luck, Min, only the Force. _With that bit of unsolicited Jedi wisdom, Bastila was gone.

Min turned her attention back to the banquet, where High Admiral Dodonna had just ended her speech with a flourish. Applause rippled throughout the room, and Min clapped dutifully, even though she hadn't heard a word of the speech.

Next to her, Canderous took a long swig of his whiskey, not bothering to hide his irritation at being here. He spoke in Mandalorian, much to the displeasure of the surrounding Jedi Council members. "I can't believe that a society this pompous and long-winded defeated my people."

She responded in Mandalorian, her quota for politeness already being exhausted by a very trying day. "I can't believe that you came tonight. I thought you'd refuse to come."

"It's been a while since I've seen any action. Someone might try to assassinate you tonight. It might be fun..." She knew that Canderous was only half joking. He'd been growing more and more restless since the fighting with the Sith had ended.

"Someone already has." Min gestured to her plate of untouched food and the small, pocket-sized ChaumScanner Five that she always carried with her, which had detected three different poisons in the meal. Considering the large bounty on her head and the rather large number of people who wanted her dead, it was hardly surprising. Republic intelligence had already taken a sample, but it was rather difficult telling just who was trying to kill her at any given moment.

"Mmm. I was hoping for something more violent, where I'd get to hit someone."

"Smacking down obnoxious padawans not satisfying enough for you?"

Canderous had returned with her from the fleet, and had been helping the Jedi weapons masters train the young Jedi padawans. Stupidly, the Jedi padawans tended to underestimate the Mandalorian because he wasn't a Force user, and Min found it highly entertaining to watch Canderous take apart his young, cocky opponents. Yesterday had been Dustil Onasi's turn, and it had been rather enlightening.

"Hardly. I was looking for something that would give me more of a challenge."

The other Council members stood at the table, and Min rose with them. Admiral Dodonna joined them at their table and gestured to them to follow her into the reception area.

"Have fun being paraded around on your gilded leash." With a sneer that she wanted to smack off his face, Canderous abandoned her and headed to the bar, shaking his head as he walked off through the crowd of people that scrambled to get out of the surly Mandalorian's way.

The next hour and a half was one of the most miserable times of her life, as she was put on display in front of the Fleet brass, various Senators and members of the Jedi Order. Min tried not to be resentful, since she knew that it was necessary to reassure these very influential people that she was in no danger of becoming Darth Revan any time soon. The Council and Fleet command had taken a lot of heat when they had pushed her recent pardon through the Republic Senate. She supposed that this was part of her penance, but it rankled when they talked about her like she wasn't standing right next to them. At least she wasn't really required to say anything. Mostly, she just stood in between Admiral Dodonna and Master Vrook, and tried to look as harmless as possible.

By the time the nervous-looking Republic lieutenant Min recognized as one of Dodonna's aides approached her, she had a raging headache. He surprised her by speaking directly to her, and not addressing Admiral Dodonna or Master Vrook like everyone else had.

"Jedi Revan, Admiral Onasi wishes to have a word with you."

Dodonna interjected smoothly, "Lieutenant, please inform the _retired_ Admiral that it will not be possible."

_Retired? What? When?_

"Yes, ma'am." The lieutenant looked positively green as he hesitated, his mouth opening and closing in indecision.

Dodonna sighed and said, "Spit it out, Lieutenant."

"Um, Admiral Onasi said that if she didn't come to him, that he would be just as happy having this conversation in front of everyone here." The harried lieutenant cleared his throat in embarrassment before he continued. "He was rather...forceful, Admiral."

Min could actually hear Dodonna's teeth gnashing in frustration. Vrook, on the other hand, hid any response behind a smooth veneer of Jedi serenity as he scanned the crowd of influential people, scrutinizing every move. Min knew that Carth had them by the balls with this one. They wouldn't risk starting a scene involving the biggest war hero of their generation. She knew what had to be done.

She stepped forward and gestured with her hand. "Lead the way, Lieutenant."

The lieutenant glanced over at the Admiral, who nodded slightly. Mollified that he had the blessings of his superiors, the lieutenant led her through the crowd of people, all of them casting speculative gazes at her, then up an enormous set of marble stairs. As she walked, Canderous silently fell into step behind her, his grey eyes sweeping around, alert for any possible trouble. Without breaking stride, Min snatched a flute of Garwillian champagne from the tray of a passing serving droid.

The lieutenant led her to a small sitting room, hesitating in front of the archaic glass doors. Min threw caution to the wind and downed the glass of champagne in one long swallow, the sweet bubbly liquid sliding smoothly down her throat. Canderous scowled his disapproval.

_If it's poisoned, at least I won't have to face him._

"Thanks, Lieutenant," she said as she handed the lieutenant the empty glass, noticing his uncertainty as to whether or not he should actually lead her into the room. "I think I can handle it from here." A palpable wave of relief flooded from him as she let him off the hook. With a curt nod, he walked away as fast as he could without actually running. Despite her ill temper, Min couldn't help but laugh.

Stretching her Jedi senses, she confirmed that it was, in fact, Carth waiting for her in the other room.

"It's Carth," she said, for Canderous' benefit.

Canderous didn't say anything, just leaned against the wall and lit a cigarra. Icy dread filled her stomach as she opened the door. Min took a deep breath and entered the room, steeling herself for a conversation that she'd been avoiding for two years.

* * *

"So you see, I'm afraid that fulfilling your request is going to be rather... impossible." Ambassador Rzadi steepled her clawed fingers in front of her, tossing her head in an unmistakably arrogant gesture as her long black topknot fell over her shoulder. "There is no chance that our government will agree to additional inspections of the ships that come from Ryloth." 

Yuthura pushed aside her bitterness; her cool outward demeanor betrayed nothing of the raging contempt and frustration that she struggled to get under control.

The Falleen ambassador continued, her exquisite, scaled face betraying no emotion or even token sympathy. "It is simply not in our economic interests to increase inspections on ships passing along the Corellian Run. Who would pay for these extra law-enforcement officers? Our government? The Republic? The Jedi Council?"

"Ambassador, because of your homeworld's position along the Corellian Run, it gives your government the unique opportunity to stop many of the slavers trafficking from Ryloth to the Core planets." Yuthura's smooth alto was calm and reasonable, even though Ambassador Rzadi was testing the outer limits of her patience. "Stricter enforcement of the laws already put in place by the existing treaty between the Republic and your planet- "

The Ambassador held up her scaled green hand. "What you are asking is simply not feasible, and, quite frankly, Twi'lek slavery from Ryloth is simply not our problem."

_It will be if I make it your problem._

Various Sith persuasion techniques occurred to Yuthura, but she shoved those thoughts aside with a twinge of regret. She briefly wondered if Force compulsion would work on the ambassador. As tempting as it was, she knew that even if Rzadi was weak-minded enough, in the long run it wasn't really a solution, in addition to the fact that it was, well, wrong.

The ambassador stood, signaling the end of their interview. "Now, if you will excuse me, I have important business to attend to."

Effectively dismissed, there was nothing left for them to do but leave. "Thank you for your time, Ambassador," Juhani said, after a polite bow.

The four women were ushered out of the opulent office by the ambassador's secretary. Only when they were outside of the Falleen Embassy did they allow their frustration to show.

"Well, that was pointless," Thalia said.

Bastila led the way down the open-air corridor, her quick, efficient steps clicking on the pavement.

"Perhaps not," Juhani said, as Yuthura fell into step beside her. "If we can appeal again to the Senate to pressure the Falleen government to enforce the terms of the treaty-"

Yuthura coiled her head-tails around her neck, trying to control her agitation. She took a deep, calming breath of the cool night air before she spoke. "We already tried that."

The reality was that the Falleen government received an enormous amount of credits from the slavers to look the other way. No amount of reasoning was going to change their view as long as the credits kept coming.

Juhani glanced at Yuthura, concern written across her sharp features. "We must be patient."

Had it been anyone else who'd told her that, Yuthura would have been tempted to ignore their words or retort with a scathing rebuke. However, as someone who had endured slavery herself, she couldn't just brush Juhani's words aside. Yuthura marveled that Juhani could still remain even remotely optimistic after all of the setbacks that they'd had, especially when she could feel the frustration pouring off of the Cathar.

_I'm tired of being patient. _

Over the last year,Yuthura and Juhani had appealed to the Senate, ambassadors and anyone who would listen regarding the problem of black-market slave trade, and the only result after all this time was that Yuthura's frustration was almost at breaking point. It was truly galling to try to talk to various Senators, ambassadors and bureaucratic officials about the problem of slavery, which was blatant and commonplace, despite the fact that it was illegal. Every time the answer was the same: an expression of sympathy and acknowledgement that the current situation was unfortunate, followed by a long list of excuses as to why nothing could be done. At least the Falleen ambassador had been more honest than most they had talked to.

Yuthura's longstanding resentment was nearly at a boiling point after months of hearing the same excuses and denials, and fruitlessly trying to go through the legal channels available. She was torn between wanting to take more direct action than the Council allowed, and fear of what would happen if she left the Order again. The only thing that stopped her was the knowledge of what had happened to her the last time. Feeling the edges of her hard-won inner peace fraying, she didn't know how much longer she would be able to stand by and do nothing.

"There must be a better way," Yuthura stated. "The approach we have been taking isn't working."

Not having any response to that, her companions remained silent as they entered Embassy Park, a large urban park which connected the most important and prominent embassies on Coruscant. Since it was past dinnertime, the usually bustling square was dark and deserted, except for the four women. Yuthura soaked in the beautiful, peaceful atmosphere of the garden as she walked, inhaling the sweet tang of the black Zinthorn blossoms now in full bloom, which were illuminated by the soft lights that flanked the flagstone pathway.

Eventually, Juhani broke the silence. "Thank you for coming tonight, Bastila."

"You are welcome. I am sorry I was not more helpful."

"The Falleen ambassador would not have seen us without your presence." Only the pressure exerted by two bona fide heroes of the Star Forge battle had persuaded the Falleen ambassador to grant them an audience in the first place, and even that had been quite difficult.

Bastila's lips twitched into a slight smile. "Perhaps Carth would have been a better choice, given the ambassador's taste in companions. " The exquisite Falleen ambassador was rather well known for preferring the company of good-looking human men.

Amusement shone in Juhani's yellow eyes. "I think it would be rather difficult to convince him, given what happened the last time he tried it on Tatooine."

At that, Yuthura's curiosity was piqued, but she didn't feel comfortable enough with either Jedi to ask for the whole story.

"Well, we would not have to tell him," Bastila pointed out as her smile widened. "We could have just brought him along, and let the rest happen as the Force dictates."

Juhani chuckled and shook her head, amused by the underhanded suggestion. "You have been spending too much time with Min."

"Is it true that the Queen of Naboo proposed to Admiral Onasi?" Thalia asked.

"Oh, yes. She ambushed him in front of a crowd of about a thousand people," Bastila said. "The poor man turned a bright shade of pink. I don't think he was able to put together an actual sentence for several minutes." Shaking her head, Bastila laughed softly at the memory. "She was at least eighty years old, if she was a day. But all things considered, he handled the situation very graciously."

"But didn't that make you angry? I mean, aren't you..." Thalia's voice trailed off as Bastila's expression darkened.

"Jealous? No," Bastila stated vehemently, but Thalia still looked dubious. "I don't understand why no one believes this, but Carth and I are not-" Bastila took a deep breath and smoothed her features. "We are not lovers. Even if I were interested in him – which I am not – I would never do that to Min."

Thalia asked the question that Yuthura was thinking. "Revan? What does she have to do with this?" Thalia's eyes widened in comprehension. "Are they-"

"No," Juhani said sharply, cutting off Thalia's impertinent question. "They are not." Satisfied that Thalia was suitably chastised, she turned her attention back to Bastila. "The rumors were inevitable, Bastila. Both of you are well-known public figures. It is the same reason there are rumors about you and Canderous. Eventually, the fascination with us will die down and we will be left alone."

"When? Just yesterday, Senator Kinel came up to me and..."

Yuthura listened with only half of her attention to Bastila's description of a drunken Senator's impertinent remarks. Her attention was mostly taken up by the oppressive quiet that had settled over the square. She couldn't sense anyone but the four of them through her Jedi senses, but something seemed...off. Yuthura paused and scanned the hedges and flowerbeds of the massive garden, but she didn't see anything.

As nonchalantly as she could, she unhooked her lightsaber from her belt; she hadn't lasted as long as she had as a Sith by disregarding her instincts. Juhani stopped, noticing Yuthura's hesitation, and her yellow eyes narrowed as she scanned the garden. Neither of them saw anything, but Yuthura couldn't shake the feeling that they were being followed.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the blaster bolt materialize from behind a nearby feathertree. It caught Thalia May in the back of her head with a sickening sizzle, and the young woman pitched forward. She was dead before she hit the ground.

Yuthura heard the crackle of a stealth field dropping when a blurry figure materialized next to Bastila. Bastila didn't even have time to react as she was stabbed by a vibroknife.

Juhani acted first. With a blue flash and a quick movement, she sliced their attacker across the chest, searing through their armor. The smell of charred flesh was her reward. Eyes wide in shock, Bastila staggered, clutching her stomach as a dark stain began to spread on her pristine Jedi robe.

Yuthura ignited her lightsaber, deflecting the barrage of blaster bolts as they were attacked from all sides.

* * *

Hands shoved in his pockets, Carth stared out the floor-to-ceiling windows, not really looking at the new training grounds below, when he heard the old-fashioned ornamental doors open behind him. A moment passed, and then the doors closed with a soft but ominous click. He didn't turn to acknowledge her. Instead, he continued to stare out the large windows, stewing in his anger, somewhat surprised that after all this time it was still so strong. 

She was nearly silent as she approached, and only the soft rustle of fabric betrayed her presence. When he turned from the window, she froze behind a fancy loveseat in the middle of the elegant sitting room, one hand perched hesitantly on the back of the delicate furniture. It took her a minute to meet his eyes, and when she finally did, his guts twisted painfully. Old wounds that he thought were nearly healed were ripped open when he saw her again tonight. Bitter anger and pain scoured through him, leaving him raw.

The first thing he noticed was that she looked tired and drawn; the beautiful, delicate features of her face seemed tight and brittle. Even to his inexperienced eyes, he could tell that her brown and ivory Jedi robes were impeccably tailored and made from the finest material. Still, they just looked wrong on her, as if she wasn't quite comfortable wearing them.

He had spent the better part of two years trying to arrange this meeting, fighting against the Fleet brass, the Jedi Council, various Senators and, most importantly, the woman standing before him. But now that they were actually facing each other, he didn't know where to start.

Carth finally settled on a quiet, "Hello, Min."

She blinked. Clearly she hadn't expected so mundane a greeting. "I suspect you had a good deal to do with my pardon."

She suspected correctly. He had used up every political favor his war hero status had granted him, and had worked with the Jedi Council and the Republic military into getting her a pardon.

As he nodded his confirmation, she said, "Thank you."

With a curt gesture, he ruthlessly dismissed her thanks. "I don't want your gratitude." Crossing his arms, he faced off against her. "I just want an explanation that I figure is about two years overdue." As he spoke, his voice grew tighter and tighter with pain. He wasn't sure why he was forcing this, other than the fact that he simply had to know. "You cut me out of your life without so much as a backward glance, and I want to know why. I _deserve_ to know why."

She looked away as she spoke. "I already told you."

"You didn't _tell_ me anything. Damn it, woman, you sent me a _note_!" The note, delivered by Juhani, had been painfully brief. It had simply stated that she had made a mistake, and that he needed to get on with his life without her.

At first he hadn't believed it. When he'd tried to see her, she ruthlessly used the fact that she was a prisoner in her favor, by asking High Admiral Dodonna to keep him away. Dodonna had complied, informing him that she was unwilling to allow the Republic's famous war hero to be touched by scandal. For a long time he had refused to give up, trying unsuccessfully through Bastila, Jolee and Juhani to convince her to at least see him. Finally Jolee had forced him to face the bitter truth: that she didn't want to see him.

Carth clenched his hands into fists so hard that his fingers began to ache, and tried not to give into the overwhelming urge to hit something.

"You didn't even have the guts to face me!"

"You're right. I didn't. I wouldn't have been able to do it face-to-face." She looked at him then, and while her voice was infuriatingly calm, her intense eyes betrayed her pain. "I'm not sorry I did it. It was the right thing to do."

Her words ignited his anger into fury, and he couldn't stop himself from shouting. "It was the right thing to do? What the hell do you mean by that?"

"Carth-" Whatever she was going to say turned into a scream of pain. Min doubled over, clutching her side, shaking. She leaned against the back of the love seat, her dark eyes wide and unseeing. Fear and concern shot through him, and his anger was temporarily forgotten.

He caught her, holding her up as her knees went boneless. "Bastila," she croaked, "she's hurt! I have to..." She closed her eyes and took a deep breath; after a few seconds she stood up straight and bolted for the door. He could tell that she was still hurting because her face was tight and drawn.

"Do you know where she is?" he asked as she threw open the door to reveal a very startled Canderous.

She nodded. "I need to find a way to get there." Canderous fell into step with them.

As they moved quickly down the stairs, he noticed his son standing with his friends at the bottom. Carth saw that Dustil's arms were crossed and his jaw was set in a hard line.

Carth dismissed his worry; he had more important things to worry about at the moment. He grabbed her elbow to stop her. At her confused and impatient look he said, "Hold on. I think I've got the answer."

* * *

Half-dragging, half-carrying a nearly unconscious and very bloody Bastila, Yuthura moved as quickly as she could while Juhani covered their retreat. Blaster bolts zipped past them as they ran, outnumbered and outgunned by the shadowy figures that had materialized out of the darkness. Behind her she could hear Juhani's lightsaber connecting with the blaster bolts with telltale sizzles and hisses. 

For the first time in a long time, she was terrified, because for whatever reason she couldn't feel her attackers through the Force. Even worse, they didn't seem to be affected by Force powers at all. When she'd tried to send a Force wave at them, she could feel the Force washing past them, as if they weren't standing right in front of her.

Yuthura concentrated on Bastila as they moved, using the Force to stop the bleeding from the gaping vibroblade wound on her side and to relieve the burden of the Jedi's dead weight. She managed to stop most of the blood flow, but that was all, since healing was something she simply didn't have a natural talent for, and she didn't have much time to focus on it while she ran down the flagstone trail, deeper and deeper into the heart of the park.

The trees were thicker here, as flowerbeds and bushes gave way to a more natural-looking but carefully sculptured simulated forest.

In her peripheral vision, she could see the dark forms of their pursuers on either side of them, running parallel to them, occasionally firing off a shot that was easily dodged or deflected now that the Jedi knew the attack was coming. Even though they couldn't sense their attackers, they could feel the shots as they came. She wondered why they were still shooting at them, since now that their presence was betrayed, the odds of hitting the Jedi women with their blasters were slim. Shooting at them clearly wasn't working.

_Unless they're not trying to hit us..._

"Juhani! They're herding us!"

The Cathar's yellow eyes widened in comprehension as they broke out of the cluster of trees into a dark, empty amphitheatre. As they raced down the stone steps, she could hear their attackers gaining behind them.

"I do _not_ want to find out what's waiting for us up there," Yuthura panted.

Juhani pointed at the empty stage. "We will make our stand there."

Yuthura nodded silently. Juhani gracefully leapt up onto the bare stage, and Yuthura handed the Cathar the now unconscious Bastila. Juhani placed her against the back wall, and the two women waited for their attackers to appear. The soft glows of their blue and violet lightsabers illuminated the dark gloom until Yuthura extinguished her lightsaber. After wiping off her hands, sticky with Bastila's blood, on her robes, she reached into the folds of her robe and unsheathed the trio of small throwing knives strapped to her leg.

After what seemed like forever, but was probably less than half a minute, a half dozen shadowy figures appeared at the top of the stairs. But instead of advancing, they just stood in silence. Yuthura's stomach clenched as she realized that they were waiting for something. A few more figures, ones that seemed bulkier and more hunchbacked, joined the others. Slowly and warily, the attackers began to advance.

As they stalked forward, Yuthura studied them. They were all humanoid in form, but it was difficult to tell more than that since their faces were cowled. They had holstered their blasters and had drawn vibroblades. Yuthura and Juhani braced themselves for the oncoming attack.

And then, without warning, the Force was gone.

* * *

Min bit her lip to prevent herself from screaming. She could taste the coppery tang of blood as she fought down her panic, but what she really wanted to do was wail. Bastila was simply gone. 

Nearly hyperventilating in panic, she tried to focus on slowing her breathing down. It was Canderous who brought her back to the here and now.

"Min!" he barked as he grabbed her shoulder across the back of her seat and shook her roughly. She focused on his hard, pissed-off face and held up a hand to stop him.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" he demanded, although thankfully he stopped shaking her.

Min gripped the edge of the cool leather seat and found her voice. "She's gone. I can't feel her through the bond."

Canderous' face went from irritated to grim. Dustil, who was crammed next to the big Mandalorian in the tiny backseat, paled, while Carth, who was piloting the speeder at an alarmingly fast speed, said nothing, his jaw settling in a hard line. Since the speeder's top was down, the chill wind whipped them as he flew; the enormous skyscrapers were just a blur as he cut through the flow of traffic.

"Here." Canderous handed Min her lightsabers. She hadn't wanted to leave them at the Jedi Temple tonight, but Dodonna and Vrook had been unwilling to allow her to wear them at the banquet. She hadn't told them that she'd asked Canderous to hold them for her.

Unwilling to watch as Carth dodged and bobbed between the vehicles in the thick Coruscanti traffic, she focused instead on his pale son, who was clutching his lightsaber in a death grip.

After leading them to where he'd parked the speeder earlier, the kid had insisted on tagging along, despite his father's protests. A full-blown family fight had almost ensued, prevented only by the urgency of the situation. Since they simply didn't have time to argue with him, Dustil had gotten to come along.

"Shouldn't we have told someone where we were going?" Dustil asked, shocking Min. It was the first time the boy had spoken to her directly since their escape from Korriban. "Asked for backup or something?"

"That won't be a problem." Min knew that a squad of Special Forces troopers was probably already following them. Her unauthorized departure from the banquet was bound to draw attention, and the chip implanted at the base of her skull would tell them exactly where she was. Dustil's lips thinned in annoyance when she refused to elaborate, but he remained silent.

"We're almost there," Carth announced, and Min shifted her attention to the front of the speeder. She could see the green sprawl of the park ahead of her. Stretching her senses, she tried to find Yuthura, Juhani or Thalia.

"I can't feel any of them. Can you?" she asked Dustil.

He closed his eyes for a second before saying, "No."

"You're sure this is the place?" Carth asked.

"Yes. Bastila showed me before she lost consciousness."

He nodded and brought the speeder closer to the treetops of the park. Carth began cursing, "Damn it, Dustil! You weren't kidding about these brakes, were you?"

She felt Dustil reach out with the Force to slow the speeder down as she scanned the treetops. It was Canderous who spotted them. "Over there."

Min could barely make out a blue glow, but Carth followed Canderous' terse directions and jerked the speeder to the right. Tense seconds passed as they approached. It looked like they were in the heart of the park, where the synthetic forest opened up into a beautiful amphitheatre, which was carved out of the ground. She could make out figures on the stage, and the blue glow of a lightsaber.

Min saw Juhani and Yuthura, bloody and ragged, standing near the back wall of the stage, surrounded by a half dozen cowled figures. There were a few slumped shapes at their feet.

Carth brought the speeder in close, preparing to land. But Min didn't want to wait--when they were about fifteen meters above the ground, she stood and leapt out of the moving speeder. As she used the Force to slow her fall, she could hear the shouts of surprise from Dustil and swearing from Carth. She landed on her feet roughly but without injury.

Min sprinted down the stone steps towards Yuthura and Juhani, and ignited her lightsabers while she ran. When she hit the Force-void area, Min stopped in her tracks, staggering as the world shifted and went out of focus.

Completely disoriented, she dropped her lightsabers while her mind tried to make sense of what was happening to her. Metal clinked against hard stone, and her lightsabers snapped off. Min regained her bearings enough to see several cowled figures charging her, and she realized that she was completely defenseless against them. She turned to run back up the stairs, her now clumsy feet catching on the stone steps. She went down hard, and pain shot through her elbow and arm.

Looking over her shoulder, she saw her attackers circle in for the kill, almost within striking range. She scrambled to move as their blades lowered.

Blaster shots rang out as Canderous, Carth and Dustil came into view. Both men fired simultaneously, hitting the closest attacker square in the face, while the other one lunged at Min. She twisted, and the vibroblade whistled past her ear as she moved. There was another sizzle, and the figure dropped to his knees before toppling over sideways.

Carth stopped to help her up, grim worry written across his face as Canderous stripped the dead men of their blades.

"Go help them," she shouted, pointing at the struggle happening on the stage before them. Without hesitation they complied. Canderous sprinted to the fight, vibroswords flashing in the dim light, while Carth covered him with his blasters.

Min retreated up the steps to where Dustil was standing, and groaned with relief as the Force swamped over her. Turning, she saw Canderous run one of his blades through one of the assailants who had lost his weapon and was trying to strangle Yuthura with his bare hands. With a few well-placed shots, Carth dropped the other two, and an eerie silence filled the amphitheatre as the fighting ended.

Gingerly, Min made her way to the stage, followed by Dustil, wincing as she hit the Force-void area. Since she knew that it was coming, it was easier to recover. Dustil stumbled, and she caught him by his elbow.

Being cut off from the Force was profoundly uncomfortable, and she felt like she was standing naked in a room full of strangers. But she ignored it, rushing towards Bastila, who was propped up against the back wall. Bastila was so pale and still, that for several horrible seconds, Min thought she was dead, but a quick check revealed a faint heartbeat.

In the distance, Min could hear sirens approaching, and knew that Bastila needed to get medical help immediately. Carth crouched down next to her.

"Take her up to the top of the hill. See if Dustil can help her."

Nodding, Carth picked Bastila up and barked for Dustil to follow him, Juhani limping along with them. Min walked over to where Yuthura was sitting, bloody and exhausted. The beginning of a dreadful, dark bruise was blossoming around Yuthura's neck.

"Where's Thalia?"

Yuthura answered, her head-tails flattened against her skull. "Dead."

Min shook her head. "Damn."

"I thought we were dead. How did you - "

"The bond. I felt it though the bond. I thought you were dead, too."

Canderous shouted at her from across the stage, "This one's alive." When Min and Yuthura joined him, he asked, "Do you want him to stay that way?"

Thinking of Thalia May and Bastila, she was sorely tempted to answer in the negative. "Yeah."

She crouched down next to the wounded figure and pulled back the cowl to reveal a human male. Min was immediately struck by how young he was; he didn't even look old enough to shave. The pair of silver throwing knives buried in his chest glinted cruelly in the low light. One looked awfully close to his heart, while the other was lodged in his stomach. He was still conscious, although bleeding profusely.

"Who are you?" Min demanded.

The kid just looked at her long and hard. Finally he rasped, "You're Revan, aren't you?"

"How do you know who I am?"

"We all know who you are." His face twisted and Min didn't need her Jedi powers to feel the intense hatred coming from the boy. "I wanted to be the one who would kill you."

"Why did you do this?"

But he didn't answer. Before Min could figure out what was happening, he clenched his jaw hard. Min heard a popping sound, and then his eyes rolled back into his head as he convulsed and foamed at the mouth. In less than ten seconds, he was dead.

Disgusted, Min rose and headed up the hill to where the troops had landed, wondering what the hell she'd gotten her friends into.


	3. An Unwanted Memory

_**Chapter Two – An Unwanted Memory **_

Hubri looked down at the bound and gagged Senator's daughter tied up on the pristine white carpeting, and ignored the whimpering, animalistic sounds of fear that were mostly muffled by the thick cloth gag. Giant, fat teardrops slid down her porcelain cheeks, making her green eyes, already wide with fear, seem enormous. Her husband, a prominent Coruscanti businessman, was tied up next to her, and seemed to be taking his captivity better than his wife, or at least quieter than her. The businessman was on his knees, back ramrod straight, stoic, rigid and silent.

Next to him, their eldest son, about twelve-years-old, was trussed up, obviously frightened but still defiant, and sporting a black eye which Hubri had given him for refusing to shut up. Hubri hated it when they talked, because it made the mission much more difficult.

While Hubri waited for his companions, he studied the opulent penthouse, curious to see how the elite of Coruscanti society lived. He moved slowly through the cluttered and gauche living room, stopping to finger a cut crystal lamp that sat on a marble-tiled end table, and decided that money couldn't buy good taste. Every conceivable metal surface was gilded with gold, and there seemed to be a disturbing number of fancy mirrors everywhere. He found the effect to be incredibly creepy.

The family's Nikto bodyguards were tan, unconscious heaps on the floor, bound the same way the family members were. Breathing in and out steadily through the holes in their cheeks, their flat faces looked almost peaceful. It had been difficult to subdue them, but in the end they had done it without lethal force, although when this was over, the bodyguards were going to have to spend a lot of time in a bacta tank to heal. Hubri was glad, because he did not want to kill anyone unless it was absolutely necessary.

The smell of fear mingled with the stench of burnt wiring, caused by the smoking serving droid that doubled as another bodyguard. It had been decimated by ion bursts that had fried its circuitry.

After what seemed like forever, Hubri's companions returned, carrying the two youngest boys, ages eight and five, who were shrieking at the top of their lungs. At the sound of her children, the Senator's daughter went wild, straining against her metal binders so hard that her wrists bled. She struggled to stand, but Hubri ruthlessly pushed her back down onto her knees and leaned down to speak into her ear, "If you struggle, you'll only make things worse."

But she refused to see reason, so Hubri was left with no choice other than to backhand her across the face. Bright red blood trickled out of her nose and over the gag in her mouth as she sobbed, but she didn't try to stand again.

"What took you so long?" Hubri demanded, irritated that he'd been left to guard the three of them for what had seemed like forever. They needed to move fast if they were going to make a clean getaway. He was already on edge because there were kids involved in this mission, and kids complicated everything. Hubri watched as Chen and Niall bound and gagged the small wriggling forms and hoped that none of the children carried the taint, especially the twelve-year-old.

"They were hiding under the bed. And this little bastard,"--Chen jerked the eight-year-old boy by his raven hair-- "bit me." Hubri noticed blood was dripping from Chen's left hand onto the immaculate white carpet.

"Forget about that," Niall said, turning to Hubri. "It's time."

Removing the silver circlet from his head, Hubri blocked out the sounds of whimpering and crying in the room. He focused by taking deep, calming breaths, and allowed his mind to open to the taint which was his curse. Power flowed through him, and he was ready.

When he opened his eyes, he could see it. The energy swirled around the Senator's daughter, while her husband showed no trace of it and neither did their two Nikto bodyguards, but that was to be expected. He focused on the kids and his stomach clenched because he saw the energy teeming around all three of them, including the eldest boy.

"Well?" Niall asked in his thick, heavy accent.

"All of them," Hubri confirmed. Niall and Chan nodded and shoved sleep stims into the two youngest boys' necks. The effect was almost immediate; they passed out into small puddles on the floor.

Without another word, Hubri walked behind the twelve-year-old boy, drew his pistol and fired point blank at the back of his head. Before the boy hit the ground, Chen fired at the Senator's daughter, who pitched forward and landed face-first on the floor with a soft thump.

The stink of burned flesh blossomed as a keening sound of anger and grief ripped from the father's throat, muffled by the gag. Unwilling to listen to it, Hubri brought down the butt of his pistol onto the back of the man's head, knocking him unconscious.

His task complete, Hubri focused on blocking out the taint, while Chen and Niall scooped up the unconscious boys. When he was finished, Hubri looked over at the dead boy and reflected that it was a shame really, but the kid was too old to be successfully reeducated, unlike his younger brothers.

As he walked out the door, he stepped over the boy's body, and tossed the carved marker on the floor, confident that he and his companions had just made the galaxy a safer place.

* * *

The sound of Yuthura's precise steps clipping against the marble-tiled floor was swallowed by the vast silence of the enormous Jedi Archives. Cavernous and serenely silent, the several story-high stacks of data chips held priceless information gathered over several millennia. The afternoon sun shone through the enormous arched windows as dust motes floated lazily past hovering archive droids that glided in respectful, scholarly quiet.

Every member of the Jedi Order had access to the archives; however, the areas of knowledge that the Order deemed dangerous were limited to Jedi Masters only, and the few Knights whom the Order determined were unlikely to be corrupted by the extensive knowledge within. Yuthura was not one of the Knights granted full access, and, to her knowledge, neither was Minuet, which accounted for why Minuet was working under the watchful supervision of her former Master, Vrook Lamar.

As she approached, Yuthura noted that she didn't need her Jedi senses to see the obvious tension between the two Jedi. Minuet's shoulders were rigid as she spoke softly to Vrook, who dismissed what she had said with a wave of his hand. Minuet's lips thinned and her dark eyes flashed, but she closed her eyes and took a deep breath, clearly trying to keep her temper in check.

When Minuet opened her eyes and met Yuthura's, the look of frustration on her face gave way to something that looked suspiciously like relief. Wondering what she had just walked into, Yuthura hesitated.

Vrook looked up from the console that he'd been studying and fixed his dour gaze on Yuthura. Although his outward features remained placid, she could sense the irritation caused by her interruption. "Ah, Yuthura. Is there something we can do for you?"

Yuthura inclined her head slightly at the silver circlet that sat on the table next to the data console. "Master Zhar mentioned that you were trying to identify the circlets our attackers were wearing. I would like to help."

"That's very good of you," Vrook said, in the same tone of voice a teacher would use to explain a complex idea to a small child, "but I don't think we need any assistance."

Minuet arched an elegant eyebrow at Vrook. "Don't you think a fresh pair of eyes would be useful?"

Vrook refused to be budged. "I'm sure Yuthura would be of more use elsewhere," he said, and turned back to the data console in an unmistakable dismissal.

Yuthura could see Minuet's temper simmering as her irritation played across her face. Minuet opened her mouth to let the Jedi Master have it when Yuthura decided that perhaps it was time to intervene, since Minuet getting into an argument with Vrook would accomplish nothing useful.

"Perhaps that is true," Yuthura said, refusing to be put off, carefully keeping her tone calm and reasonable. She coiled her lekku around her neck as she spoke. "But Thalia May was one of my former students. We fled Korriban together after…"--she looked at Minuet thoughtfully, hot shame shooting through her-- "what happened to Uthar. While we weren't close friends, I would still like to help."

Minuet spoke before Vrook could dismiss Yuthura again, gesturing for the Twi'lek to take a seat; blatantly ignoring Vrook's disapproving frown, she asked, "Were you involved in the archaeological digs on Korriban?"

Yuthura ignored Vrook's disapproval herself, taking a seat across the table from Minuet, determined not to let the Jedi Master dismiss her from a task that she very much wanted to help with. "Somewhat. Dak Vesser was the one who was really in charge of the excavations, but as Uthar's apprentice, he ordered me to keep him informed of what was going on in the valley. It was my job to make certain that the information and artifacts were passed on to you, and later, Malak."

Minuet's eyes widened in shock and Yuthura continued, amazed that she didn't know. "You do know that you are the one who started the excavations in the Valley of the Dark Lords?"

But it was clear that she hadn't known, and Yuthura wondered if she had blundered into a sensitive subject. Apparently the rumors that the former Dark Lord of the Sith remembered very little of her past were true, and Yuthura wondered what it would be like to have gaping holes in her memory. She involuntarily shuddered. Even though most of her memories were painful and shameful, they were still hers, and she couldn't imagine what it would be like to lose them.

"No. I didn't know," Minuet said softly. "I don't remember that, but it makes sense. From what little I remember of Malak, he wouldn't have cared about the Sith ruins."

Yuthura decided that Minuet deserved to know and elaborated further, despite Vrook's now-open scowl. "You moved the Academy from Ziost to Korriban, because you could use the students to do the excavations. You also made Jorak Uln the new headmaster. I think you also wanted to take control of the students yourself, free from the political infighting on Ziost."

"Strange that he didn't recognize me when he tried to kill me. But then again, he wasn't exactly sane at the time."

Yuthura had heard from Mekel about how Minuet, Jolee and Juhani had saved him from the insane Dark Jedi. "When you visited the Academy, you always wore your mask, and your presence, while powerful, was much darker then." The one time Yuthura had seen Revan, the woman had pulsed with a dark, ferocious power. There had been rage and fury, but it was cold and calculating.

"You met me?"

Yuthura saw the mixture of fear and curiosity. "No. I only saw you from a distance. At the time, I was still a student and of little importance."

Minuet opened her mouth as if she wanted to ask more questions, but instead shook her head, dismissing the past momentarily. She picked up the metal circlet that was sitting on the data console that she and Master Vrook were currently sharing, and handed it to Yuthura. Yuthura turned the circlet over in her hand and took her time examining it, her fingers tracing over the intricate pattern of inlayed circles etched into the cool metal. Outwardly, it looked like a mere piece of jewelry, but a push of a tiny button revealed the complex and ancient circuitry inside.

As Yuthura studied the circlet, Minuet spoke. "Circlets like these were found on all of the dead assassins. They're the reason why your Force attacks were so ineffective. They make the wearer invisible to Force users, and Force-based attacks slide around them as if they aren't there."

"That explains how they surprised us."

Minuet picked up a small silver cylindrical device off the table, holding it up for Yuthura to see. "And then there was this." She hit an unseen button, and the Force vanished around them.

Yuthura met Minuet's eyes, shocked. Minuet pressed a button on the side of the cylinder, and the Force came rushing back to them. She handed the cylinder to Yuthura, who took it gingerly and began examining it, amazed that something that could fit in the palm of her hand could affect the Force that way. It was clear that it was of the same design as the circlets.

Minuet continued her explanation. "The circlets only work on the people who are wearing them; they appear to be defensive in nature. Unlike that device,"--she pointed to the metal cylinder in Yuthura's hand--"they can't push back the Force around people who aren't wearing them. We haven't been able to figure out how they work, although the Council has a team of Jedi working on that." Minuet paused, her thoughtful expression turning into a worried frown. "Technology like this isn't supposed to exist. The only other technology that I've ever heard of that are even remotely similar are the energy cages installed in some of the giant Fleet frigates. But those cages require a direct source of enormous power, which is why they are rare. Did you see anything like this on Korriban?"

Yuthura placed the circlet back down on the polished wooden table with a small click, and folded her hands in her lap. "No. Clearly it's not a Sith artifact, since the styles are completely different, and it's older than that, isn't it?" When Min nodded her confirmation, Yuthura continued, "The only non-Sith artifact found on Korriban that I was aware of was the Star Map."

"You're right about it being older; I'm guessing about the peak of the Rakatan Empire. I've seen this pattern before. I know I have… but I just can't remember. It seems so familiar." She sighed. "I wish I had my notes."

"You took them with you when you left the Order," Vrook said, startling both women; they had forgotten that he was there. "Dorak and I searched for them after your fall. He was the only reason that we even knew about the Star Maps, you know. You discussed it with him years ago, but it took us a long time to make the connection and understand the significance of them."

Yuthura knew that speaking to Dorak would be impossible. The former Head Chronicler of the Jedi Archives had been killed in Malak's attack on Dantooine over two years ago.

Vrook stood, steadying himself with his gnarled hands on the desk, and Yuthura noticed for the first time how frail the Jedi Master actually was. "Well, it looks like we aren't going to find anything here." He nodded at the both of them. "I need to consult the Council about what our next step should be. I trust that the two of you will find something productive to do."

Both women watched in silence until Vrook was out of earshot. Minuet shook her head when they were finally alone and muttered, "What an old bastard."

Yuthura's eyes widened slightly and the corners of her full lips twitched, but she said nothing.

Sighing, Minuet rubbed the bridge of her nose with her thumb and forefinger. "Sorry, it's been a long three days. Why the Council insists on forcing two people to work together when they have never gotten along, I'll never understand. I'm probably supposed to be learning a valuable lesson about patience or something, but all we manage to do is argue."

"He was your Master?"

"Mine and Mal's."

Yuthura blinked, disconcerted at hearing one former Dark Lord of the Sith refer to another by a nickname. She had met Malak several times, and couldn't picture him being called "Mal." Then again, the slender woman in front of her didn't seem like Darth Revan either.

Minuet studied Yuthura with an intense curiosity. "You said you left Korriban with Thalia May. I don't remember her from the Academy."

"At the time you were there, she and two other students were hiding out in the shyrack caves. They had refused to kill someone, I forget who, and Uthar ordered them to be killed." Yuthura hesitated; her time as a Sith instructor wasn't something she was very proud of. "They were the students I suggested that you find and kill when we were plotting for you to gain influence."

"Ah, I remember now." Minuet nodded thoughtfully. "I was going to try to find them and offer them a lift off the planet, but then things got rather complicated with Dustil." Her brows knit together as she asked, "How did you end up with them?"

"I met them at the transport. They were trying to buy passage, but they didn't have enough money. After a lot of convincing that I wasn't trying to kill them, I paid for their fares and we made our way to Dantooine. It was closer than Coruscant, and I heard there was a Jedi enclave there."

Minuet winced. "You were on Dantooine when it was bombed."

Yuthura spoke softly and slowly as memories of that nightmarish day flashed unwillingly through her mind: bright fireballs streaking across the placid golden sky and the sounds of the wounded lucky enough to survive. "We were out in the fields doing meditation exercises with Master Zhar when the bombing started. I've never felt so helpless watching anything. There was nothing left except a couple of smoking craters by the time we got back."

"I'm happy you made it. I wondered what happened to you after we left Korriban. I was afraid an ambitious student would find you and kill you while you were knocked out."

The idea that someone had actually worried about her well being startled Yuthura. She looked at the other woman, reflexively wondering what she hoped to gain, and was astonished, because Minuet seemed completely genuine.

Clearing her throat, Yuthura steeled herself to say the words she felt were long overdue, but no less difficult to say. "When I woke up in Naga Sadow's tomb, I couldn't believe that you let me live. I made my way back to the Academy and everything was in complete confusion. Dustil, Mekel, and Kel were missing, and there were at least seven dead students. I was going to take control of the Academy. Everyone who could have stopped me was gone… but I couldn't stop thinking about what you said." Yuthura smiled ruefully and met Minuet's eyes. "I think I hated you for forcing me to question everything that I had come to believe, but you were right, and I couldn't deny it. So I went to my rooms, packed a bag, and left."

Minuet showed no sign of being offended at her confession. "The truth is a difficult thing to face. This is probably going to sound patronizing, but I think you should be proud."

Proud wasn't exactly what Yuthura was feeling, more like disgusted and ashamed at the person that she had once been. "That is kind of you to say. I admit that I feel foolish that I didn't see what was right in front of me. The Sith cause just as much, if not more, misery and destruction than slavers do. I can't believe I was so blind. I never got the chance to thank you."

Minuet shifted uncomfortably, and Yuthura could see the embarrassed flush under her brown skin. "Yuthura, you don't have anything to thank me for."

Yuthura, unwilling to allow Minuet to minimize what she had done, continued. "Yes, I do. Killing me would have been the prudent thing to do, but you took a chance and risked your own safety by letting me live. And you gave me the wakeup call that I needed. If it hadn't been for you, I would probably still be a Sith."

Lips quirking, Minuet shrugged. "Well, I liked you, so I really had no desire to kill you. Ultimately, it was your choice to make."

"Yes, it was my choice. But as Jolee once pointed out to me, sometimes we need a kick in the trousers to get us going in the right direction."

Minuet conceded with a chuckle and a nod. "You're welcome, then." She rose and paused awkwardly, clearly uncertain of how to continue. After a few seconds, she said, "Speaking of a kick in the pants, Canderous' daily training session starts soon. Would you like to watch? It's rather entertaining."

Touched more than she wanted to admit, Yuthura stood and fell into step with her. Even after two years with the Jedi, or maybe because of it, friendship was something she was uncomfortable with. She was astonished at how much she wanted it from this woman. Determined to make the effort, she smiled and said, "I heard that today is Mekel's turn. It should be rather informative."

She was rewarded by a brilliant smile that actually reached Minuet's dark eyes. "I probably shouldn't find it so entertaining, but I have to take my pleasures where I can get them, as petty as they are."

Yuthura's throaty laugh filled the studious silence as they strolled out of the library.

* * *

_In the inky darkness of her personal quarters, Revan stirred. _

_Untangling herself from the blankets and Malak's heavy arms, she silently slipped out of bed. Revan looked down at his large, muscular frame sprawled over the luxurious bed, and frowned. Her apprentice and lover was becoming troublesome, and she was going to have to decide what to do about him soon. Malak was growing increasingly reckless and impatient, demanding more power over her new armada. Worse, he was beginning to disobey her orders, which was something that she simply could not tolerate. She was going to have to get him under control soon, before she was forced to take more… drastic actions. _

_It was strange, really. When they had foolishly walked the light side path, Malak had been the one with the steady patience, while she was the one with the temper. But the more they embraced the power of the dark side, the colder and more calculating she'd become, while his anger and rage always simmered underneath the surface, ready to boil over at any time._

_Still, Malak was an exceptional warrior, and the deadliest swordsman she'd ever known. While he was hardly a fool, he was a tactical disaster. The one time she'd allowed him to take command of a small portion of their fleet had been an unmitigated failure. Even worse, he'd refused to listen to the advice of the tactical specialists that she'd assigned to watch him, and had killed one of her most talented admirals in a blind rage when the woman had pointed out the flaws in his plan. He had gone on to engage the enemy anyway, and it had only been the arrival of the main fleet that prevented a complete disaster. Admiral Kato was going to be difficult to replace, but fortunately Revan had the perfect man in mind._

_Revan picked up the crimson silk robe that was lying in a decadent puddle on the floor and pulled it over her naked, lithe form. She crossed the room silently, silk gliding along her skin as she walked. She settled into the plush dark leather seat before her desk and switched on the small desk lamp. The soft glow illuminated the intricate Sith tattoos on her slender hand, tattoos that now covered most of her dark body. _

_Sighing, Revan looked through the stacks of datapads that covered her desk until she found the one she was searching for. A press of a button switched the datapad on, and Revan was greeted by the sight of one of the Republic's best tactical minds, and a man with whom she had once closely worked with. _

_Not only was Saul Karath an exceptional tactician, he was incredible at finding and utilizing talented people. His ships were headed by some of the most capable people in the Republic Fleet, many of whom were incredibly loyal to the Admiral. Revan knew that if she could get Karath to defect, he would be able to bring some of that talent with him, others in the fleet who had been devalued and underutilized the way he was. She'd worked with him extensively during the Mandalorian wars, and had seen his frustration as he'd gotten passed over for promotion again and again. With that idiot Pol Durvil's promotion to High Admiral, Saul had to be livid. He was ripe, and it was time to make her move._

_Saul had already been approached by her agents, and she was certain that it wouldn't be long before he saw reason and joined their cause. When he turned, he would be able to deliver the massive orbital shipyards of Nigel Three, where the Republic Fleet based over twenty percent of its ships, by turning over the bypass codes to the Republic scanners. With a well-timed sneak attack, they would be able to catch the ships while they were docked. _

_She looked over to where Malak slept and considered her options. Once Saul agreed, she could take out the shipyards herself, or she could send Malak to take care of it. Normally she wouldn't even consider allowing Malak to do it, but taking out the unprepared orbital shipyards should be easy; even Malak should be able to accomplish it without making a mess of it. Malak and Saul had worked well together during the Mandalorian wars, and respected and liked one another. Malak would be perfect for the job of convincing Saul to join, and then the shipyards would be easy pickings._

_Allowing Malak to take the lead in this instance would solve several problems in one blow. It would appease her lover, who wanted more direct control of the fleet, by allowing him to take charge of an operation that was idiot proof. In addition, it would confirm Malak's worth to the other Sith leadership. There were too many rumblings in the ranks about how Darth Revan granted too much latitude to her lover and apprentice. Every time he disobeyed one of her orders or failed at an appointed task, he made them both vulnerable to the opposition, who regarded her relationship with Malak as a weakness to exploit._

_This perceived weakness was one of the reasons she had allowed the bond that once flowed openly between them to wither. It wouldn't be much longer before it died completely, and while she mourned the loss deeply, she recognized that it was an indulgence that she could no longer tolerate. _

_Revan set the datapad aside and stood, stretching her long body. As she reached over to turn off the small lamp, the intricate silver circlet that sat on her desk caught her attention. The ancient piece of jewelry had been found on the Rakatan planet, and had some very interesting properties that she was eager to exploit. While she wanted to follow up and learn more about the makers of the Force-suppressing technology, it was something that she would have to take care of in person. The nature of the circlet was something that could make her vulnerable, and it was a task that she didn't dare turn over to just anyone. _

_She looked at Malak again and decided that sending him for more answers about this technology might be the perfect task for him, once the business with Saul was complete. Not only would it keep him out of her hair, it would be genuinely useful, because she suspected that there was more than this one circlet to be found. _

_Satisfied with her decisions, she smiled and returned to bed. He stirred in his sleep as she joined him, wrapping his arm around her, pulling her close, and burying his handsome face in her neck. Revan fell asleep, secure in the knowledge that no matter what, she would be able to trust Malak, because he belonged to her.

* * *

_

Shaking and covered with sweat, Min pulled herself from the heavy grip of the Force-induced dream and struggled to get herself under control. She had just managed to pull herself into a sitting position when Bastila's worried voice rang through her mind, cutting through guilt and grief and sorrow.

_Min! Are you alright?_

She swallowed the lump in her throat and focused on the bond. Concern mixed with a healthy dose of fear flowed from Bastila, and Min knew that Bastila had shared the dream with her. While the younger Jedi was trying to be supportive, Min could tell that Bastila was shaken up by what she had witnessed.

Min grimaced. Normally she was able to shield Bastila from her nightmares and dreams, which weren't as frequent as they once had been, thanks to some mind-focusing techniques she'd learned from Jolee. But this one had come with such intensity that it had broken through the barriers that Min had placed in her mind.

_I'm sorry you had to see that._

_It is not your fault. _There was a slight hesitation before Bastila continued. _If you would like to talk about it – _

_No!_ Wincing because that came out far harsher than she had intended, Min tried again. _No. Thanks, but I don't want to talk about it. I just want to be alone, okay?_

_But – _

Still trembling, Min pushed her hair back from her face and untangled herself from the sheets that rustled softly as she shoved them aside. _Bastila, please._

Min ignored Bastila's concern and frustration. She could practically hear the sigh as Bastila caved. _As you wish. But if you want to talk –_

_I'll let you know,_ Min finished, and ruthlessly cut the bond.

Eyes burning from unshed tears, Min stood on shaky legs, moving from the bedroom to the spacious living area. Dawn was just beginning to break, and the room was bathed in dim grey light. She walked over to the pair of beautiful polished pleakwood chairs that she had bought especially for Malak another lifetime ago. From the fragments and pieces of her past that she remembered, she knew that he had loved them, and she couldn't look at them without thinking of him.

Lost in memories she wished she didn't have, she curled up in the heavy wooden chair and wept.

* * *

As Carth waited for the transport to dock, he watched Dustil's expression grow darker and darker by the minute, and Carth wondered, not for the first time today, why the hell Dustil had insisted on coming.

Dustil and Carth were waiting in docking bay M-471, and Carth was thankful that the bay was nearly empty because it was still painfully early in the morning. He had discovered the hard way that his face was now famous when he had taken Dustil and his friends out to dinner. A near riot had been started by people who, for some crazy reason, wanted his autoprint. After being mobbed and having his uniform nearly torn off, he was wary about being seen in public places, and always kept an eye on the exits just in case.

Fame made him deeply uncomfortable, but since most of his time was spent with the Fleet, it normally didn't affect him at all. Still, it made going out in public a pain in the ass. Carth was hoping that the public's fascination with the Star Forge heroes would eventually die down, but unfortunately after two years it showed no signs of abating. His likeness and personal life still graced holonet shows and tabloids, despite the fact that he really just wanted to be left alone.

For a while, it looked like luck was going to be with him. The few people in the bay seemed to be looking at his son, the brown Jedi robes and lightsaber hooked to his belt drawing stares, some respectful and curious, some fearful, and a few with obvious dislike. The bonus was that most people generally gave them a wide berth, whether out of respect or fear. Carth didn't particularly care which, as long as they left them alone.

However, it looked like his luck was close to running out. A pair of middle-aged women sitting on a nearby metal bench kept shooting speculative glances in his direction, and speaking in low tones while they gestured excitedly. Carth tried to ignore them, staring intently at the docking bay door, willing it to open.

Dustil must have noticed his discomfort, because he shot his father a questioning look. Carth cleared his throat and shoved his hands into the pockets of his black leather swoop duster, which he was wearing instead of his favorite orange flight jacket. It annoyed him that he was no longer able to wear it in public, since he was too easily recognizable in it. His admittedly feeble attempt at disguise included the long swoop duster and a red visor that he had dug out of the back of his closet at the last minute. Judging by the growing agitation of the nearby women, it had failed.

Dustil's brown eyes, a mirror of his father's, swept across the unassuming docking bay, taking in the utilitarian metal benches where an Aqualish was sitting, watching the news. It finally landed on the pair of twittering women, who were now openly staring.

Dustil smirked. "Looks like you've got yourself a pair of fans. Maybe you should give them an autoprint. They'd probably faint."

"I think I'll pass, Dee."

"Are you sure you want to let them down? They might be members of your fan club."

Dustil broke into an all-out grin, and Carth wondered why his son seemed to enjoy his company only when he was being harassed or embarrassed. Carth didn't bother rising to the obvious taunt, instead gracing his son with a wry look, telling himself that he should feel grateful, since they had so far avoided the bitter arguments and heated antagonism that often plagued their time together.

The transport landed and passengers started to disembark, sparing Carth from further mocking comments from his amused son.

A steady stream of passengers emerged from the transport, most bustling on by while a few were greeted by their family and friends. Carth was granted a reprieve from the stares of the nearby women when they greeted a young woman and two children by enthusiastically screeching and squealing in delight.

Finally, Mission appeared, followed by Zaalbar, who was carrying their bags, and T3, who was rolling placidly along behind them. Mission caught sight of him almost immediately, confirming the ineffectiveness of his disguise, and shouted "Carth!" while waving furiously. The two ogling women's attention snapped to him, and they smiled goofily. Carth knew that it was only a matter of time before they approached him and drew even more attention now.

But it was hard to be upset with Mission looking so happily at him. She bounded up to him with an enthusiasm that was infectious.

"Hey, kid," he said, grinning as he gave her a bear hug. Pulling back, he held her by the shoulders and inspected her. She was at least three inches taller than the last time he'd seen her, far less girlish and more and more womanly. Carth suspected that the pretty Twi'lek was already turning heads; it was a thought that made him rather uncomfortable, bringing out the protective fatherly instincts that he had to choke back.

Dustil apparently hadn't noticed her comeliness yet, or he just didn't care, because he was openly scowling at the girl. When Mission returned the scowl with a smirk, Carth knew that it was going to be a long day.

After a hearty roar and a friendly pat on the back from Zaalbar that nearly dislocated his shoulder, Carth managed to get everyone moving towards the exits.

* * *

Hubri watched as the four companions and the droid exited the docking bay into the main terminal. Following at a discreet distance, he waited for his chance to make his move. The tainted Admiral's son and the one he knew from the holovids as Mission Vao flanked Admiral Onasi, bickering with each other. The enormous Wookiee and the astromech droid brought up the rear.

His chance came when two middle-aged women approached Admiral Onasi. The Admiral turned crimson and held his hands up in front of him while the pair fawned over him and the blue Twi'lek girl. The Admiral's son stood slightly to the side, snickering, his attention focused on the commotion around his father.

Hubri slipped the circlet over his head and moved in, weaving deftly in and out of the small stream of people heading towards their final destinations. The women were causing quite a commotion now, apparently unaware or uncaring of the discomfort they were causing the Admiral; the loud gushing was now drawing the attention of nearby passengers coming and going from the docking bays.

As he walked, he spun the heavy ring around on his right hand with his thumb so that the heavy insignia was facing towards his palm, and pressed a miniscule button on the side. Three tiny needles sprang out, and Hubri was careful to keep his fingers stiff. He didn't want to accidentally poke himself, since the poison was fast acting and there wasn't a cure.

Hubri tried to appear relaxed and nonchalant, but he really needn't have bothered. The throng of people was increasing at an alarming rate around the Wookiee, the Twi'lek girl and the Admiral as people asked for their autoprints and jostled with one another to get closer to the saviors of the Republic. The boy, however, remained free of the growing crowd's attention and was jostled further away from his companions. It was a good thing, since he was under strict orders not to harm the Admiral.

_Perfect._

Careful to stay out of the Force user's line of sight, Hubri closed the gap as even more people surrounded the others, clogging the hallway. Approaching from behind the boy, he lifted his hand, ready to clasp the young Jedi's shoulder in an outwardly innocent gesture, when the Admiral shouted over the loud din, "Zaalbar, grab him, so we can get out of here!"

The enormous Wookiee let out a fearsome bellow, and the crowd collectively took a step backwards. A large furry hand reached out and clasped the kid on the shoulder, jerking him forward. The excited, jostling crowd closed behind the Jedi, who was now out of Hubri's reach.

Hubri watched as the Jedi, now guarded from the crowd by the irritated Wookiee, cut through the mob quickly and load into their nearby speeder. Within a minute, they were gone. As they sped away, Hubri consoled himself with the knowledge that there would certainly be another chance.

* * *

Baring her teeth, Mission snarled as an angry red flush stained her cheeks, "You got a problem, Sithboy?"

"Yeah. You." Dustil fired back behind a false smile, finely crafted for the maximum irritation of a certain blue Twi'lek teenager.

Carth's jaw locked in a hard line as he walked brusquely down the long white corridor connecting the Jedi Knights' apartments to the sound of vicious and persistent bickering that hadn't stopped since they had left the spaceport. Carth had given up trying to mediate between them, having learned from hard-earned experience that while his interference might bring about a temporary reprieve, in the long run it usually made things worse.

"Too bad," Mission coolly informed him with a haughty sniff that she couldn't quite pull off. "Why don't you get lost? Nobody wants you here, anyway. Don't you have something else to do?"

Carth was silently hoping that Dustil did have something else to do, and was trying to think of a subtle way to nudge his son into leaving, especially given the fact that they were on their way to Min's quarters. Dustil's feelings regarding the former Dark Lord of the Sith were no secret to his father.

But that hope was dashed when Dustil said with irritating cheerfulness, "Nope. Training doesn't begin until mid-morning, so you're stuck with me…" Dustil paused, and Carth could tell that his son was trying to come up with the most annoying word possible, finally settling on the one word that was guaranteed to send Mission over the edge, "kid."

At that, Mission predictably exploded, hurling insults and protesting loudly that she was _not _a kid, until Zaalbar, who sounded as frustrated as Carth felt, roared grouchily and stepped in between the teenagers. Although neither Carth nor Dustil could speak Shyriiwook, the Wookiee's meaning was perfectly clear to everyone. Temporarily chastised, they remained silent as they traveled down the rest of the hall, finally reaching Min's apartment.

Carth pressed the call button and waited in painful anticipation; Min finally opened the door, wrapped in a long ivory silk robe, gaping at him. It took her a second to recover as astonishment and then anger crossed her face as she stared at him, dumbfounded by his presence.

Mission launched herself at Min with a lopsided grin and the Jedi's ire vanished into a surprised laugh as she caught the girl in a hug. A brilliant, heartfelt smile lit up Min's face, the first one he'd seen in two years, and Carth's chest tightened painfully.

"Mission! I thought you were coming next week," Min said as she untangled herself from the enthusiastic teenager. T3 chirped an enthusiastic greeting and promptly rolled into the apartment, plugging into the nearest wall jack.

"I was going to, but when Big Z found out you came back from the fleet, he made us leave early."

Zaalbar roared his confirmation of that from behind Carth, and his ears began to ache from the loud, angry rumble.

Min momentarily ignored Zaalbar as she glared at Carth from over Mission's shoulder. Carth noticed that her eyes were bloodshot and had dark circles under them.

_She's been crying._

Feeling like an idiot for still caring, Carth bit back his concern. He wanted to ask her what was wrong, offer her some comfort, something, but he knew that any overture by him would be unwelcome, and that cut deeper than he thought it would, even after everything that had happened.

Still glaring at Carth, she spoke. "You should have told me you were coming. I would have arranged for Jolee or Juhani to pick you up."

_Right, Min. Anyone other than me._

Carth shoved his hands in his pockets and made his stand in the doorway, refusing to let her blow him off. Mission glanced between the two of them, and it looked like she was holding her breath, waiting for a fight to begin.

Instead, Carth smiled, and it was a mirror of the one his son had given to Mission moments earlier, also designed for maximum irritation as he said, "That's alright. I didn't mind."

When Mission had asked him to pick her and Zaalbar up from the terminal, he'd jumped at the chance to meet Min again, figuring that they still had some unresolved business to discuss. Min's glare spoke volumes, and he could see the wheels turning in her head as she tried to come up with an excuse to get rid of him. But she didn't get the chance because Zaalbar's patience came to an end. The Wookiee lumbered through the doorway, growling at Min, and launched into a full-blown Wookiee tirade at the Jedi Knight.

Rubbing her forehead, Min sighed and followed Zaalbar. Carth stepped into the spacious and elegant apartment while Min was too distracted to protest, followed by his openly curious son.

Zaalbar was livid, roaring in sharp, deafening barks while holding a piece of Mission's pink luggage over his head, shaking it, apparently for emphasis.

Min held her hands out in front of her, trying to placate the irate Wookiee. "Yes, I know you have a life debt, but -"

Zaalbar cut her off with another series of growls and moans. He tossed the luggage aside, and it hit the polished hardwood floor with a crash. Mission protested the mishandling of her luggage, but Zaalbar ignored her, glowering down and dwarfing Min while the lecture continued.

"No, I never meant to dishonor you. I was a prisoner with the fleet, remember? They wouldn't let you come."

But Carth knew that there was more to it than that. Zaalbar had returned to Kashyyyk when it became obvious that he would not be allowed to see her. Carth suspected that Min had used her prisoner status as an excuse to keep the Wookiee at bay, the same way she had with him. She had never been comfortable with the life debt, and during their mission for the Star Forge, she had desperately tried to find a way out of it.

Zaalbar wasn't buying her excuses, and Carth watched with great satisfaction as the normally stoic and silent Wookiee roared at her some more. Carth glanced at his son; Dustil's eyes were round as he watched a Wookiee's fury in full force.

"I know I promised to tell you when I'd returned to the Order. And I was going to…"--Min hesitated--"eventually."

Zaalbar exploded, pacing and howling as Min continued, "You belong with your people. They need you."

Another series of growls and fearsome roars reverberated throughout the room, and Carth was very glad that the Wookiee wasn't angry with him. It culminated in Zaalbar stomping over to one of the large pleakwood chairs by the window and sitting, arms crossed in defiance.

Min raked her hand through her chin-length curls and sighed, turning her attention back to Mission. Picking up Mission's pink bags, she walked through the apartment to the bedroom and set the bags down on the large rumpled bed. Carth and Mission followed while Dustil made himself at home, shamelessly inspecting the apartment.

"Sorry, Min," Mission said as she began inspecting her mangled luggage, grimacing. "I wanted to warn you that Big Z was coming and was really, really angry, but he wouldn't let me. You should have seen him when he found out you returned from the fleet without telling him. He ripped the table we were sitting at apart." She opened her bag and began taking out clothes that were now in a crumpled ball. "I guess this isn't so bad, considering."

Min shook her head, completely ignoring Carth's presence, apparently deciding that if she couldn't come up with an excuse to get rid of him, treating him like a piece of furniture was the next best option. "It's not your fault. It's mine. I'll have to figure something out." She went over to a dresser that was built into the wall, and began making room for Mission's clothes. "Are you sure you want to stay with me? The Masters would give you your own suite if you wanted it."

Mission looked stricken. "Yeah. I mean, unless you don't want me to stay with you."

Carth wondered if Min was trying to push Mission away the same way she had almost everyone else, and momentarily felt a spike of anger that she'd do that to a kid who practically worshiped her.

But the anger evaporated when Min said, "Of course I do! I just thought you'd be more comfortable in your own quarters, with your own bed and everything. I want you to stay. Really."

Mission still looked unconvinced. "Are you sure you're not mad at me?"

Min's brows rose, and she stopped moving clothing from drawer to drawer. "Why would I be mad at you?"

"I thought you might be angry, about me leaving school and all," Mission said as she sheepishly avoided Min's eyes, studying the rumpled shirt in her hands with more attention than was probably necessary.

Min walked over to Mission, took the shirt out of the girl's hands and tossed it on the bed. Resting her hands on the girl's slender shoulders, Min ducked down and looked Mission in the eye. "Mission, look. I just wanted you to try it. It's okay that you decided it wasn't for you. I wanted you to be happy, and you were miserable there."

Mission met Min's eyes. "But you spent so much money-" Carth knew that Min had sent Mission to one of the most exclusive private schools on Coruscant; the tuition had been astronomical and non-refundable.

Min dismissed Mission's concerns as completely inconsequential. "It's okay. I can afford it."

Carth thought that might actually be the understatement of the century. As a trust fund baby with a yearly stipend worth than some planetary budgets, Min wasn't rich--she was obscenely wealthy, with an old money Coruscanti bloodline to boot. Mission's tuition was simply insignificant to her.

Although Carth knew, from the Republic intelligence reports that he'd managed to see, that she had given away much of her money anonymously, she couldn't touch her trust fund principal. It was protected under Coruscanti law, and even the Republic government couldn't get at it. Even after all of her anonymous donations, carefully monitored by Republic intelligence, there was still an amazing amount of it left over.

By all rights, her trust fund should have passed through the Coruscanti inheritance laws to her designated beneficiary at the time of her supposed death. But since her only named beneficiary was the then Darth Malak, it created a kind of legal conundrum. The Republic government tried to seize her assets, claiming her traitorous status gave them the legal standing to claim the money for the government. Her own bloodsucking relatives, including both of her parents, who had publicly disowned her by that time, filed counterclaims. Even the Jedi Order got in on the legal wrangling, claiming that the money should be theirs.

The resulting legal battle lasted for several years, until Revan's return from supposed death stopped the lawsuit, rendering it moot, to the disappointment of all involved. Carth thought the whole thing was disgusting, especially considering that her family, who was so very concerned about her money, still refused to acknowledge her existence. The sole exception was her maternal grandfather, who had been the one who'd set up the trust in the first place. As far as Carth knew, he'd been the only family member who'd contacted Min.

"Anyway, once you get settled in, we'll go to breakfast and see the others, okay?"

"Great," Mission said. The girl then shot sly glances at the two of them. In a completely transparent attempt to leave the two of them alone, Mission bolted to the bedroom door and said, "I'm gonna…um…get something to drink. I'll be right back…" She was gone before Min could protest, closing the door behind her.

Carth saw the exasperation flashing in Min's dark eyes as she turned back to the dressers and began putting Mission's clothes away, making a valiant attempt to continue ignoring his presence completely.

"I didn't put her up to this, you know," he said.

Min was distinctly nonplussed as she continued to put the clothing in the drawer, folding Mission's unkempt and rumpled clothing as she went. "I know. You're not sneaky enough to do it," she snapped.

Insulted that she didn't think him devious enough to come up with such a plan, he frowned at her, even though in truth he hadn't come up with it, and had just followed along, knowing what Mission's intentions were. "Hey, I was tricky enough at the banquet."

Min surprised him by smiling slightly, as though she couldn't quite stop herself. She still didn't look at him, though, or stop her obvious busy work. As she untangled a ball of clothing that was wrapped around one of Mission's datapads, she said, "I guess you were."

"We need to talk."

She looked up at him then, crossing her arms under her breasts, datapad still in hand. Not for the first time, Carth noticed how the material clung to her lithe body. Even worse, she was standing in front of a large rumpled bed. Much to his annoyance, his thoughts turned to the rather unwholesome variety as her eyes blazed in anger. "Do you think that this is the best time to do that, with your son in the other room, stewing in anger?"

_Damn it. Dustil!_

Clenching his fists in bitter frustration, Carth realized that she had a point. "Sooner or later, we're going to have this conversation, Min."

"Not if I can help it," she muttered as he turned and headed to the door. Before he could walk out of the room, however, she cursed profusely. Something about her tone of voice told her that it wasn't aimed him.

"Carth, wait," she said, shocking the hell out of him. He turned and saw her studying the datapad that had been wrapped up in Mission's shirt. She looked up at him and said, "Take a look at this."

He walked over to her and peered over her shoulder, feeling guilty that he was looking at Mission's private belongings. Any reservations he had disappeared when he saw what was on it.

He bit the word out, "Griff." He looked at Min, who was clearly worried. "I can't believe that core-slime's contacted her again."

"I thought that after what you and Zaalbar did to him last time, he would leave her alone," she said, scrolling quickly through the rest of the message so he could see it.

Two years ago, Mission's long-lost brother, who had abandoned her on Taris, had caught up with his newly famous sister on Coruscant. In a weird quirk of fate, Griff had been on Tatooine the same time they had during their Star Forge mission, and had been captured by the Sand People during one of their raids on the Czerka sand crawlers. When the Jedi had raided the Sand People enclave, they hadn't realized that he was there. They'd found out later that he'd used their distraction to escape from the camp, catching the first transport off the planet before they even knew that he was there.

Over the last two years, Griff periodically surfaced every time he ran out of money, and every time, Mission gave it to him. The last time Griff had contacted Mission, he'd convinced her to fund his latest get-rich-quick scheme. The kid had a big heart when it came to her no-good brother, even when he had finally admitted what everyone had already guessed: that it was his idea and not his girlfriend's to leave a ten-year-old sister alone on Taris. Mission had pawned her Krayt Dragon pearl and had given the twenty thousand credits to Griff. Zaalbar and Carth had cornered Griff, telling him that if he intended to screw over his sister again, he'd have to deal with them. The bastard had taken Mission's money anyway, and from what Carth knew, hadn't contacted her since.

"He must be out of money again. I'd pay him off to leave her alone, except that it would probably just encourage him to ask for more. I'm afraid that it wouldn't solve anything in the long run." As Carth nodded in agreement, she sighed, "What do you think we should do?"

Carth knew the answer, even though it went against every parental instinct that he had. "Nothing."

Min's brows rose and her jaw nearly hit the floor. "Nothing? _You're_ suggesting that we do _nothing_?"

"Yeah." He took the datapad out of Min's hands, turned it off, and put it back in Mission's pink bag. "As much as I hate to say it, it's none of our business, Min."

When she nearly sputtered in indignation, he had to suppress a smile. While he didn't find this business with Griff amusing, it was satisfying to know that he could still surprise her. "But he's a bastard! He's just using her," Min protested.

"What do you think we should do?" He gestured to the closed door. "Go out there and confront her about this? Demand that she not see her brother?"

"No, but-"

"But what? She's sixteen and she's been living on her own for most of her life. If we go out there and lecture her, it's going to accomplish nothing except piss her off. And how would we explain that we were snooping around, looking at her datapad?"

"Hey! It was on! Besides, this is Mission, who happens to be the queen of snooping. It's not like she has any room to talk." Carth decided that pointing out that, just because it was on, she still didn't have to read it would accomplish nothing, except sidetracking them from the important issue.

But Min did have a point about Mission being the queen of snooping, coloring as he remembered a certain unfortunate laundry mix-up that had resulted in Min's unmentionables getting jumbled in with his laundry before they were lovers. Carth hadn't been able to figure out a way to return them without drawing attention, and he'd felt horribly sleazy keeping them. He'd solved the problem by stuffing them into the bottom of his drawer, hoping to slip them into her laundry the next time she washed her clothes. When he had sent Mission to his bunk to grab an extra power cell for her blaster, she'd found them, much to his mortification. Eventually, Min had found out, and the teasing had been merciless.

He shook his head, focusing on the problem at hand. "This is a decision that she has to make herself."

She looked at him like she couldn't believe what he was saying. In truth, he could barely believe it himself. "We could at least talk to her about it. Try to convince her to ignore him."

"If she wants us to know, she'll tell us. Until then, we should let it be."

"You know he's going to break her heart again!"

"Maybe. Although maybe we're not giving her enough credit." Min opened her mouth to protest but he cut her off. "Look, I know how you feel. My first instinct is to go out there and lecture her, or better yet, go find Griff and kick his ass. But that's not going to solve anything. She has to figure this out on her own."

When Min scowled at him, he knew that he'd won. "When did you get so patient?" she asked, clearly not happy with this decision, but apparently unable to come up with anything better.

He smiled ruefully. "When I had to figure out how to deal with my angry teenage son. I learned pretty quickly that forcing the issue is about the worst thing that you can do." Raking his hand though his hair, he sighed. "He's still so angry with me. But he's a man, and I can't make him do what I want or see things my way. I didn't think that after two years he would still be so angry with me, but… he is."

Min's eyes softened, and a lump welled up in his throat as he realized how much he missed just talking to her. "You're his father. Isn't it an unwritten law of the universe that fathers and teenage sons can't get along?"

Carth chuckled, but his heart wasn't really in it, and he could see by her worried look that she wasn't buying it either. It warmed him more than he wanted to admit that she would still care enough to be worried for him. "Yeah, you're probably right. Dee and I have always butted heads. Ana was the one who could deal with him the best; she always seemed to know what to say."

The minute he said it, he knew that he'd made a mistake. He watched helplessly as guilt overwhelmed her. Min took a step backwards. He stumbled over his words, cursing himself as he spoke, "Min, I didn't… ah, I mean… I don't blame you."

"I know you don't, but you should," she said in a small voice. "She'd be here if it weren't for me."

"You don't know that-"

"Yes, I do." She turned away, picking up a set of brown Jedi robes out of the open drawer. "I need to get dressed. Please go."

As he stood there, trying to figure out what to say, she disappeared into the refresher, leaving him alone, again.

* * *

Dustil paced as his anger grew.

Mission, looking mighty pleased with herself, emerged from the small kitchen area with two mugs of caf. Dustil glared at her, turning his attention to the closed bedroom door, and suppressed the urge to throttle Mission. As he was deciding whether or not to charge into the bedroom, Mission's voice cut across his indecision.

"What the heck are you doing?"

It took Dustil a second to realize that she wasn't talking to him but to Zaalbar. The Wookiee had retreated to a corner and had begun unpacking his enormous olive duffel bag. He pulled out a worn bedroll, and it looked like he was setting up camp in the corner of the apartment.

Zaalbar answered Mission with what sounded like a couple of long whines and a soft howl, while gesturing to his blanket and kit.

Mission rolled her eyes. "Min's not going to be very happy about that."

Zaalbar shrugged and continued to make himself comfortable, while Mission handed him a mug of hot caf. Dustil noticed with a twinge of annoyance that she hadn't offered him any.

Mission settled into one of the large wooden chairs next to the floor-to-ceiling windows, sipping her caf and grinning.

"Aren't you going to go back in there?" Dustil demanded.

"Pfft. No," Mission said, flipping her lekku over her shoulder and still looking rather smug. "Why would I do that?"

"You set this up, didn't you? You didn't tell her you were coming on purpose, and you asked my father to pick you up knowing this would happen!"

Mission just looked at him and tried to look innocent. After a few seconds of trying, she gave up and just smirked instead.

Dustil's anger, which was already boiling, went white hot. Realizing that he was about to lose his temper completely, he closed his eyes and focused on the calming exercises that Master Zhar had taught him. After a minute or so of focusing, he felt better, but he didn't trust himself to talk to Mission now without going crazy, so instead he returned to inspecting the apartment, and ignored Mission as best he could.

It was unlike any other apartment that he had seen in the Jedi Temple. Master Zhar's rooms were sparse, with few personal effects, and very little in creature comforts. Most of the padawans tried to emulate their masters, which made for rather boring living quarters.

This apartment was more like an actual apartment. The furnishings were classy and understated, but clearly expensive. Dustil's artistic sensibilities couldn't help but be impressed by Revan's taste. Sleek and clean lines predominated the comfortable furniture, which were in soft earth tones. There were smatterings of color throughout the room, from the vase of crimson starblooms on the low table between the gleaming pleakwood chairs, to the sky-blue afghan tossed over the back of a cream loveseat in a small seating area, near a pair of full bookcases. Colorful woven rugs were scattered on the floor, their beautiful knotted patterns an interesting contrast to the shining wooden floor. But what caught his eye was the painting on the opposite wall.

Before he could inspect it more closely, his father emerged from the bedroom looking like someone had just punched him in the gut. His father met his eyes and sighed. Mission looked at his father with the obvious question on her lips, and sharp jealousy shot through him. He normally wouldn't voluntarily spend his precious free time with his father, who usually had to pester and cajole him into seeing him, but he was going to be damned if he let a bratty cantina rat take his place.

"Well?" Mission asked.

"She's getting dressed. She'll be out in a few minutes." The tired look on his father's face didn't invite any more questions on the subject. Mission sighed and settled back into the chair, chattering with Zaalbar as he continued to unpack in the corner. Carth joined Dustil over by the painting.

"I was going to take Mission and Zaalbar out to dinner tonight. Want to come?"

"Can't. Master Zhar is having dinner with the Rodian Trade Commission." Dustil pulled a face at the thought of spending several hours at another boring dinner.

"Sounds damn boring." His father's words echoed his thoughts and sympathy shone in his eyes. It occurred to Dustil that his father must have attended hundreds of these kinds of events.

"I know. He says that it will be a valuable lesson in diplomacy and economics." Dustil sighed. "I was hoping he'd let us skip it. But maybe it's a good thing, since Kel is still pretty upset. It might take his mind off of Thalia May."

"Isn't she the padawan who died?"

"Yeah. They were… uh… He liked her, a lot."

Carth didn't look that surprised, but he asked, "I thought that was against the rules."

"Not technically. They just discourage it by preaching about the dangers of that kind of thing. Well, most Jedi Masters do. Although since Jolee's been here, I guess some have changed their minds. The Masters seem to argue about it a lot, actually."

His father smiled. "Jolee's causing trouble, huh? Who would've thought?"

"Yeah."

Father and son shared a rare moment of bonding, both grinning over the thought that the ornery old Jedi was causing the Jedi Council trouble. "Anyway, the dinner will give Kel a reason to come out of our room. He's been in there for three days straight. He even locked me out for a while." Since he and Kel shared a room, he'd had to bunk with Mekel and Mekel's smelly roommate for a couple of nights.

"So you think the answer is to take him to a diplomatic dinner? I'm surprised that you didn't…ah…" His father paused, and Dustil couldn't help but be amused that his father was trying to find a tactful way to suggest getting his friend drunk.

After watching his father stammer for a few seconds, Dustil took mercy on him. "Mekel and I tried to take him out drinking, but he wouldn't go. So we brought the liquor to him." Dustil winced. "It got pretty ugly, but I think he felt a little better. He's still pretty depressed though."

"Yeah, I imagine that he is." Carth nodded in understanding, and Dustil didn't miss the pain in his voice. For the first time, he wondered if that was what his father had done when his mother had died. "Let me know if there's anything I can do…"

Despite himself, Dustil appreciated the gesture. "Thanks, I will."

An uncomfortable silence stretched between them, as both men seemed startled that they had completed a completely civil conversation. With a thoughtful nod, his father joined Mission, taking a seat in one of the pleakwood chairs and began making plans for dinner that evening.

To fill the time, Dustil turned and studied the painting closely, and was shocked by what he saw. The intricate landscape was made up entirely of living moss in all different shades of colors. They were grown into a pattern of what looked like an enormous country estate. The painting was simply stunning.

"Is this a real mosspainting?" he asked mostly to himself, not really expecting his father to know.

"Yes," Revan answered as she emerged from the doorway to her bedroom, catching him off guard, "it is."

Dustil couldn't help but goggle at the painting. Mosspaintings, cultivated by Alderaanian artists, were extremely rare, as it took decades to grow one. He'd only seen pictures of them in art vids, and there were a few at the Galactic Museum.

"How did you…" he trailed off, unsure of how to ask the former Dark Lord how she had acquired this priceless piece of artwork.

_Maybe she killed someone for it!_

The answer turned out to be far more mundane. "It was commissioned by my grandfather for my eighteenth birthday. That's my family's estate on Alderaan."

"I thought your family was from Coruscant?" Carth asked.

Revan turned to see his father sitting in one of the beautiful wooden chairs, and the expression on her face changed from polite to heartbroken in an instant. Her struggle to regain her composure played across her face, and her voice trembled as she shook her head slightly as she answered him. "They are. But my family has estates on many planets."

He didn't think it was possible, but the woman who had nearly conquered the Republic and had struck fear in the hearts of millions looked as though she were about to weep. His worried father stood and took a step towards her, the obvious question on his lips, but she held out a hand in front of her. "I have to…" she paused as she tried to pull herself together, finally finding what she wanted to say, "…meet with the Jedi Council." She turned away as she said to Mission, "I'll catch up with you guys later."

He and his father exchanged bewildered looks as Revan fled the room.

* * *

Min's blazing presence seared through the serene meditative trance that Bastila had carefully crafted for over an hour. With her mind open to the Force, it was impossible to ignore the presence of her bond mate and the raw, pulsing power that still swirled around the woman.

Bastila opened her eyes to see Min standing in the doorway, watching her. "I'll come back if I'm interrupting something."

"No. Please come in," Bastila quickly assured her. She was glad for any break she could get after staring at the blank white walls of the med bay for the last three days, recovering from her near-fatal stomach wound. Besides, after the Force vision they had shared last night, she was deeply concerned.

Min took a seat in one of the chairs next to Bastila's bed and crossed her long legs in front of her. "I hear that they're letting you out tomorrow."

Bastila nodded. "It will be good to get out of here." After a day in a bacta tank and two days of enforced bed rest, she was growing restless despite the frequent visits of her friends.

But she was worried about Min, who looked tired and drawn, which really was not very surprising, given both the vivid Force dream and Carth's visit this morning. She was determined to talk to Min about both, because she knew that Min was hurting, but was wary because she knew that any offer of help would be brushed off. Not for the first time, Bastila wished she had a better grasp of social skills. But the dream was too important to ignore, so Bastila resolved not to be put off again, and tried to broach the subject in a roundabout way.

"Carth brought Mission and Zaalbar to see me earlier."

"Mmm."

Bastila saw a flash of pain in Min's eyes at the mention of Carth's name, and it echoed through the bond. Bastila knew that it had to be bad, since they were very good now at shielding each other's thoughts. Only the strongest emotions leaked through now.

Min quickly changed the subject. "Did he bring Dustil with him?"

Bastila flushed, and her irritation was betrayed by her frosty tone. "Yes." She frowned as a sly smile spread across Min's lips. "Why am I not surprised that you find this amusing."

Min didn't say anything, she just laughed.

"I wish you had never said anything," Bastila snapped as she primly smoothed out the blanket covering her lap.

Min choked back her laughter as she defended herself. "Hey, I was just pointing out the obvious."

"Well, it was not obvious to me, and I wish it would have stayed that way. It is absolutely mortifying!"

"I don't see why it bothers you so much. It's just a crush. You should be flattered."

Flattered was the last thing that Bastila was feeling. Every time she saw Dustil Onasi now, she couldn't help but notice the way he looked at her, and how he stammered and flushed when he tried to talk to her. Dustil's reactions reminded her of how Min used to tie Carth in knots, except that Min had done that on purpose. Bastila was not trying to tease Dustil, but it seemed that no matter what she did when it came to the boy, he stared and stumbled over his words. She couldn't imagine the situation being more embarrassing than it already was.

"He is a teenager! Surely you're not suggesting…" Bastila couldn't even finish the sentence; the idea was so incredibly ludicrous.

"He's only four years younger than you. He's hardly jailbait. And you have to admit he's a good-looking kid."

Exasperated but not surprised that Min would tease her about something this humiliating, Bastila crossed her arms and glared at the still-laughing woman. Sadly, the glare made Min laugh even more, and Bastila could not believe that she had wasted her time worrying about her so-called friend.

"_Kid_ being the operative word."

Min, still hiccupping in laughter, struggled to get her mirth under control. When she had mostly succeeded, she said, "I'm not suggesting that you do anything, other than being a bit nicer to him. You glare at him every time he comes near you."

"If I am nice to him, won't it just encourage this," Bastila sputtered, trying to find the right word to describe this horrible situation, "idiocy?"

"You could let him down nicely…" Min said as she shook her head. "You know, tell him that you're flattered but that you just don't think about him that way."

"Or I could just ignore him, and maybe he will stop."

Min rolled her eyes. "Oh, yeah, 'cause playing hard to get is a sure way to get a guy to stop."

"What would you know about playing hard to get?" Bastila pointed out tartly.

At that, Min laughed so hard that she nearly fell out of her chair. While Bastila was glad that she had made Min laugh, she was irritated that it had come at the expense of her own dignity. She crossed her arms and waited for Min to stop laughing.

Wiping the tears of mirth from her eyes with the back of her fingers, Min conceded, "Good point." Clearing her throat, she regarded Bastila with a sigh. "Okay, out with it. What is it that you want to talk to me about?"

"I am just concerned. That vision last night must have been painful, and Carth being around cannot be easy for you."

Min's good humor vanished immediately. "I spoke to the Council about what I saw. They were… scared. Something's going on, Bastila. Something big that's got them spooked. But I don't know what it is, and it's not likely that they're going to tell me." Their eyes met and Min continued, completely sidestepping Bastila's concerns. "Anyway, that's not what I came to talk to you about. I came to talk about our bond."

"Oh?"

"We know now that it can be broken. Somehow, I broke mine with Malak. I think that if we don't use it, it will eventually fade."

They looked at each other for a minute, and then Bastila asked softly, "Do you want our bond to die, Min?"

"Honestly? I don't know. Two years ago I would have said 'yes' in an instant. Now, I'm not so sure. You're my friend, Bastila, and I owe you a lot. I owe my life to our bond, and now it's hard to imagine not having one. But it can't be easy being bonded to me…"

Bastila spoke slowly, considering her words very carefully. "It's not easy, but that's not your fault. And it can't be easy for you either. Breaking the bond…" There was a time when she would have given anything not to be bonded to Min, but now Bastila couldn't even fathom not having it, she was so used to the other woman's presence. "I'll have to think about it."

Min rose. "If you decide that you want to break it, I want you to know that I understand."

Bastila nodded, not knowing what to say and needing time to think about what Min had said. The women talked for awhile about trivial things, and Min managed to avoid talking about Carth or her vision any further since Bastila was too preoccupied thinking about the bond. When Min finally left, Bastila watched her go, still worrying and still wondering what to do.

* * *

Wow! Thanks for the feedback guys. I really, really appreciate it! Beer is also welcome, but sadly I don't think it will help in the frequency of updates…

Once again, a huge whopping thank you to xenzen and Lord Valentai for the beta.

Also, I have to give credit to xenzen. While it was my idea for Carth to get…um…propositioned by the Queen of Naboo, it was her idea to make the Queen eighty years old (which makes it so much more entertaining).

BlackpoolBird: I'm assuming that being "well chuffed" is a good thing…

Brynn: Thanks for the review. I'm curious to know what it is about setting this story two years after the events of the game that you don't like. Please let me know, because constructive criticism is always appreciated. :)

Xan: I feel your pain about not having an xbox. I'm consoling myself with the reports of slow load times, sluggish frame rates, and buggy game play… all of which will hopefully be fixed for the pc version.


	4. Behind Closed Doors

_**Chapter Three – Behind Closed Doors **_

**Coruscant: Three Years Ago**

In the harsh florescent glare of the med bay, Bastila studied the unconscious, nearly-naked woman floating in the kolto tank before her. A breather mask covered the bottom half of Revan's face, and two new kolto patches on her stomach and one above her right breast were mending the damage that she had taken due to yesterday's unfortunate incident.

But even with those wounds, Revan looked better than she had eight months ago; Bastila couldn't believe the drastic change in Revan's appearance. The damage, caused by Malak's betrayal and an overloading power conduit, had been gruesome and extensive; Revan had been covered with electrical burns and most of her skin had been regenerated. The scars that Revan had earned over the course of a lifetime were now gone, and so were the Sith tattoos that had been scrawled over most of her body. Her dark skin was now completely flawless, a blank canvas for her new life.

Also absent were the ravages that had taken their toll on Revan's body because of her use of the dark side of the Force. Varicose veins, yellow eyes, and a gaunt form had faded away, and Revan's hair, which had been cropped short, now hung to beneath her chin. What remained was a beautiful woman who looked like she belonged on the arm of a wealthy man, rather than the former Dark Lord of the Sith.

The currents in the kolto tank shifted when an injection of medicine shot through the liquid, creating the illusion of Revan stirring. Although rationally Bastila knew that Revan was unconscious and in stasis for everyone's protection, she shivered involuntarily and took a step back from the tank, her hand instinctively resting on the double-bladed lightsaber hooked to her belt. She choked back the bitter bile in her throat, fighting to control the chill dread she felt whenever she faced this woman. Bastila forced herself to stand her ground despite every instinct that told her to turn and run. She nearly yelped in surprise when Master Zhar spoke.

"How are you feeling?" Master Zhar asked, placing a reassuring hand on her shoulder. His eyes never left the tank.

Bastila took a deep breath, drawing strength from the serenity that flowed from the Jedi Master. "Much better, thank you."

Master Zhar nodded and handed her a cup of caf, and Bastila was grateful for the warmth that spread from the mug to her cold hands.

"Can you tell us what happened?" Zhar asked. Although his voice was calm, he coiled his lekku around his neck in a distinctly self-protective gesture.

Four of the Jedi Council's most esteemed members, Masters Vrook, Vandar, Dorak and Zhar, all waited with silent patience for her explanation. The effect was unnerving. Bastila took a deep breath and struggled to find the words that would explain the turbulent emotions that she had sensed over the last week and a half through the unexpected and unwanted Force bond she shared with Revan.

Discovering that she shared a Force bond with such a dangerous and volatile woman had been a nasty shock, and there was a part of Bastila who rebelled against the utter unfairness of it. She had tried to put her trust in the Force, telling herself that the Masters were correct when they told her that there must be a greater reason for the unwelcome tie to this woman, but the constant exposure to Revan's uncontrolled emotions and the dark side miasma that still surrounded her was both exhausting and terrifying. Bastila wanted nothing more than to get as far away from this woman as possible, but unfortunately, her strong sense of duty simply would not allow her to run and hide.

Bastila gathered her thoughts as best she could, and answered the question. "The implanted false identity began to disintegrate the same way it did the last two times she was revived."

The outward expressions of the four Council members didn't change at all, but something seemed to shift in the air, and Bastila could sense the deep frustration that flowed as an undercurrent between them. With a start, she realized that there was also a healthy dose of fear emanating from them as well, and while it was comforting in a way to know that she wasn't the only one afraid of Revan, it was very unsettling that these four powerful men were terrified of the woman floating in the kolto tank.

Bastila swallowed, knowing the Masters were not going to be happy with what she was going to say, and she forced herself to speak as calmly and as clinically as possible. "The remnants of Revan's mind simply refused to accept the personality that you crafted for her. The two personalities clashed, until finally her real personality asserted itself over the implanted one."

Bastila's stomach clenched as she remembered how hellish being bonded to Revan for the last week and a half had been. For several days, Revan had thought that she was losing her mind as the two personalities clashed and fought for control. Bastila had tried to help the woman covertly though their bond, but Revan's overwhelming fear and confusion had been impossible to penetrate. And while she hadn't been able to help Revan, she didn't dare shield herself from the woman's emotions since it was essential to monitor Revan's progress, so she'd felt every bit of Revan's fear, anger and confusion.

"Once Revan realized that she was not insane, she immediately grew suspicious. She began to question her false memories and her motives for joining the Republic Fleet. She simply couldn't believe that she would join the military, and she quickly realized that she was being manipulated and followed by the people around her. When her handlers tried to stop her from leaving, she attacked them."

The result had been disastrous; wild fear, suspicion and confusion had prompted Revan to take action. Her two bunkmates, who were Jedi posing as Republic soldiers, had tried to reassure her, but Revan hadn't believed them, and when she had tried to leave, they wouldn't allow it. In her panic, she had attacked, almost killing both of them. Renia was currently getting her arm reattached, while Trask had suffered a punctured lung and a ruptured spleen.

Although she was unaware of her Force powers, Revan was still very deadly with the standard vibroblades that had been issued as part of her gear. Her effectiveness with the weapons was hardly surprising, however, since she had been trained by the best. But it was frightening that Revan remembered how to wield vibroblades in such a deadly manner, and Bastila wondered what other skills Revan retained despite her shattered memory.

Vrook's perpetual frown deepened. "It appears that she is still unable to control her rage and anger."

Bastila shook her head. "She did not attack them because she was angry, Master Vrook. She attacked them because she was frightened. She felt that she had no choice." Revan's panic and fear had been nearly overwhelming, as she tried to escape from something she didn't understand.

"Why do the personalities that we build keep disintegrating?" Master Vandar asked.

"Revan simply refused to accept that she was a loyal Republic soldier, the same way she refused to accept that she was a meek scout from the Outer Rim, or a guilt-ridden smuggler. While her memories are gone, somewhere in her subconscious, she knows that she isn't any of those things, and never would be. She also refuses to believe that the names we assign her are truly hers. On some level, she still remembers who she is. And every time someone called her by her false name, it would remind her that something was just not right."

Master Zhar's eyes widened and he spoke slowly and carefully. "Are you saying that Revan's personality is too strong to be overridden?"

Bastila hesitated. She didn't want to answer, because the implications scared her, but the Masters needed to know the truth. "Yes. You tried to make her meek, patient, compliant and obedient. She simply is not that way."

Master Vrook sighed, his eyes narrowing as he studied Revan with a frown. "You are right, Bastila. Revan has never been meek, patient, or obedient. I was hoping that we could instill some of those qualities in her new personality, to make it less likely that she would fall to the dark side again."

Master Zhar shook his head as he spoke to Vrook. "You always did try to make her something that she wasn't."

Bastila realized with a start that the two Jedi Masters were deeply divided over their former student. It was a shock. She had always assumed that members of the Jedi Council were of one mind. But while Vrook didn't say anything out loud, she could feel the disapproval and frustration underneath the outward Jedi serenity that Vrook projected. Even more shocking was the deep sense of failure that both men shared.

Vrook and Zhar looked at each other for a long minute, until finally Vandar spoke, cutting through the taut silence.

"We need to come up with a course of action, and quickly. Malak's forces are advancing, and we still have no idea where the rest of the Star Maps are, or what exactly the Star Forge is."

"Is the risk of releasing Revan as she is worth it?" Vrook asked as he regarded the other Council members. His tone conveyed clearly that he didn't think it was. Bastila didn't blame him, since she couldn't help but think that herself. "Are we certain that finding the Star Forge is the key to defeating Malak?"

"Yes," Dorak said with no trace of hesitation in his voice. "We all had the same vision. We all know that she is the key to stopping Malak."

The Masters were silent for a minute. All of them studied Revan as she floated in the kolto tank, until finally Zhar spoke. "If we come up with a background that is closer to the truth and leave her personality as it is, we may have a better chance of success."

Vrook scowled at that suggestion, but remained silent when Vandar asked, "What about her name? Her mind refuses to accept the names we have given her, but we cannot allow her to go by 'Revan'."

"No," Zhar agreed. "But we can use her first name."

"You can't be serious," Vrook said. "Someone will recognize it."

"That is doubtful. You know that she hasn't gone by it since she joined the Jedi Order, and that she dropped it to spite her parents. Even most members of the Order don't know what it is." At Vandar's skeptical look, Zhar turned to Bastila and asked her, "Do you know what Revan's full name is?"

Bastila shook her head; she hadn't realized the former Jedi Knight had more than one. As far as she knew, the woman had always gone only by Revan.

"I have to confess," Dorak put in, "I have no idea what her first name is, either."

Vandar's lips thinned. "Nor I."

Vrook conceded with a curt nod. "Point made."

"All right then, we stop trying to override her personality," Dorak said, smoothing out his long Jedi robes with a wrinkled brown hand. "Another memory wipe will have to be done, to erase today's events, and new false memories will have to be created, memories that her personality will be able to accept."

"How long will that take?" Zhar asked.

"Another month, at least," Vandar replied. "Even if this works, she will need to be monitored for some time, to make certain that she is not dangerous, before we can move forward with our plan."

No one spoke the obvious truth: that time, quite simply, was running out. Bastila knew that each day brought Darth Malak closer and closer to Coruscant. A month seemed unbelievably optimistic to her. Then again, so did this whole plan.

_What if the Masters are wrong, and we're unleashing a monster?_

Vrook turned to Bastila. "You will return to the Republic fleet tomorrow, as they are in desperate need of your battle meditation, and you can be of no further use here. Admiral Dodonna has granted you command of the Seventh Division Fleet."

Bastila was so surprised that she just gaped at Vrook for a second, unable to voice any of her fears and objections. Finally she managed to protest, stammering, "But…but I'm not qualified. I know nothing about leading a fleet."

Vrook waved away her concerns with one gnarled hand, as though she were just a nervous child. "You will not be in charge of the day-to-day operations. They are assigning you an advisor to handle that. Just continue using your battle meditation as you have been doing. Once we are certain that Revan is ready, we will notify you and you will arrange for her transportation to Dantooine."

"Your position in the fleet is imperative, Bastila. Not only will it provide the Fleet with the assistance they require, but it will provide us with the necessary cover when Revan becomes functional," Vandar added.

Decision made, Vrook, Vandar and Dorak left the room in order to make preparations for the next day, leaving Bastila torn between terror and relief.

_They are the Council. They know what is best. Who am I to question their judgment?_

Bastila lingered behind, even though she wanted to get as far away as quickly as possible from Revan, because she wanted to speak to Master Zhar. He was the most easily approachable member of the Council, and he always seemed to be able to put things in perspective. Just his presence seemed to have a calming effect, and she hoped that he would be able to quell her traitorous doubts.

Zhar stood in silence, the steady clicks and beeps of the medical equipment the only sounds in the room, unable to tear his gaze away from his one-time pupil. Bastila knew that Revan had been a legendarily difficult student, and had been the charge of several Masters, including Vrook, Dorak, and Zhar. Many in the Order had grumbled that her fall to the dark side wasn't unexpected, but she could see now that Zhar took her fall as a personal failure on his part.

Although Bastila was terrified of Revan, a part of her was morbidly curious, and she blurted out the question before she could stop herself.

"What is her name, Master Zhar?"

Zhar touched the curved glass of the kolto tank, grief crossing his normally stoic face. He was silent for a long time, and just when Bastila had given up on getting an answer, he spoke.

"Her name is Minuet Avery Revan."

* * *

The Jedi Order was dying, and the damned fools refused to acknowledge it. 

In the last forty years, the Jedi Order's numbers had dwindled from nearly five thousand to the current membership, which was barely over one hundred in all. Most blamed the decrease in membership on the two Sith wars in recent history, each nearly wiping out a generation of Jedi Knights. He'd come to learn that when Revan and Malak left to fight the Mandalorians, almost half of the Knights and padawans in the Order had joined them, and all of those were either dead or turned. The Knights and padawans who had obeyed the Council had fared little better, many perishing in the fight against Revan and Malak's crushing war machine.

But as with most things in life, Jolee knew that it wasn't nearly that simple. The recent swing in Jedi conventional wisdom since the war with Exar Kun, discouraging personal relationships, had led to the predictable decrease of children who were Force Sensitive. While Force Sensitivity was not always passed down from generation to generation, it often happened that way. With Knights being discouraged to form attachments and marry, the known bloodlines of powerful Force users were dying out.

The Order now counted on getting most of its recruits from children that they believed were led to them by the Will of the Force, which Jolee figured was just a pretentious way of saying that they were found by random chance. Even then, many children were not allowed to join the Order, their parents refusing because of the requirement that all familial bonds be severed. And due to the distressing number of Jedi Knights in recent history who had fallen to the dark side, parents were understandably concerned about the well-being of their children. At one time, children found to be Force Sensitive were deemed fortunate to be asked to join the esteemed Jedi Order, but now parents were more likely to see it as a curse and forbid their children from joining.

Which was why, Jolee reflected, they must have been desperate to ask him to take a seat on the Jedi Council, because he was damned certain that unless the Order was in completely dire straits, they would never have considered it.

Jolee drummed his fingers against the low polished dark wood table and looked at the other six members of the Jedi Council in attendance, sitting cross-legged on cushions. While there were actually twelve on the Council, five Masters were currently off planet at the moment. Jolee figured that they were the lucky ones, since at the moment the Council was occupied with the heated debate between Master Zhar and Master Quatra over the methods that Zhar was using in training his padawans, Dustil Onasi in particular. It was a debate that had been raging for nearly two years, and Jolee, quite frankly, was tired of hearing it.

But apparently the rest of the Council didn't share his view, so the debate trudged on. Quatra disagreed with nearly every decision that Zhar made, especially Zhar's lenient views, which actually encouraged his padawans to continue their relationships with their families. It was one of the many subjects that the Order was deeply divided upon, despite their seeming unity to the outside world.

Since Jolee's return, he'd been trying to challenge the Jedi Council's current philosophy on love, marriage, and familial relationships, not only because he thought he was right, but also because the Order needed to change its thinking or it was going to stagnate and die. While he would have been far more content with just griping about how things were screwed up, he knew that the only way to actually _change_ things was to get off his tired old backside and try to change the way things were done. So, in a moment of complete lunacy, he had rejoined the Jedi Order and accepted the status of Jedi Master that the Council had bestowed on him. Jolee had figured that after being a complete pain in the ass for two years, the Order would be tired of him. Instead, they had offered him a seat on the Jedi Council.

In the beginning, it had seemed like a one-man crusade; the members of the Order seemed irrevocably set in their ways, believing that the discouragement of relationships was the best way to prevent what had happened when Jedi turned on Jedi during Exar Kun's mad quest for power. Jolee had gradually won allies, though, and Zhar had been the first, although that was not quite unexpected. While it made him feel beyond ancient, it had been a wonderful surprise to discover that in his forty-plus-year absence from the Jedi Order, the cheerful, intelligent Twi'lek kid had grown into a remarkably effective Jedi Master with a heartening dose of common sense.

Jolee's smile was bittersweet. _Nayama would be proud._

However, some things, or rather, some _people_ hadn't changed at all. He looked across the low table at his former friend, Vrook Lamar, who was unusually silent as he watched Zhar and Quatra argue. Jolee frowned. Vrook was looking very haggard lately, and Jolee didn't think that Vrook's sudden downturn just happened to coincide with Min's return to the Order.

There was a time when he would have tried to find out what was bothering Vrook; his fellow Council member had once been his best friend. But forty years and the death of the woman they had both loved had shattered their friendship irrevocably, and now all that was left were two lonely old men who were barely civil to one another.

The windows were open, allowing the cool night breeze flow in from the gardens below, the lush, earthy scent filling the room, and Jolee wished that he were down there instead of stuck up here. Sighing, Jolee tore his gaze away from the large arched windows, deciding that his woolgathering was growing suspiciously close to self-pity, and shifted his attention to the debate at hand.

"Allowing Dustil Onasi to continue relations with his father is foolish," Master Quatra declared. "The anger and resentment that the boy feels towards his father is dangerous. I do not understand why we are allowing the situation to go unchecked." She looked to Master Vrook for support, but the Jedi Master didn't appear to be paying attention. Jolee's concern doubled; no matter what, Vrook was always attentive to what was happening.

"You think it would be better if we forbade his father's visits? That somehow that would end the resentment Dustil feels?" Zhar asked, his folded hands resting on the table in front of him; his voice was firm and implacable, and Jolee marveled at the kid's patience.

Quatra continued, unsurprisingly showing no signs of backing down. "It certainly would help. Between the relationship with his father, and the freedom you allow him, he is in great danger!"

Jolee's snort echoed throughout the solemn room, bouncing off the high arched ceiling. "Oh, yes, because we all know how fun leads to the dark side."

"This is not a joke, Jolee," Quatra snapped, frowning deeply at him. "The boy is powerful and filled with great resentment and anger-"

"Which he needs to confront. Hiding behind the Jedi Code won't do anything except bury the problem," Jolee pointed out.

"Nonsense. The boy needs to learn to control his emotions. A more regimented schedule and a concentration on meditation will help accomplish this. And if we stop allowing Admiral Onasi to visit his son, it would help even more."

"After all Carth has done for the Order, do you think it would be right to deny him the opportunity to see his son?" Jolee asked, not really as a question to Quatra, since he knew what her answer would be, but more as a reminder to any other Council members who might decide to support her.

Quatra dismissed the debt the Council owed Carth with one arched eyebrow. "We all know why Admiral Onasi helped prevent the execution of Revan, and it had nothing to do with him wanting to help the Order _or_ his son. He has been completely hostile and uncooperative most of the time. Which leads me to another issue." She turned her attention to Vandar and Vrook, and Jolee got the feeling that she had completely dismissed him. "I am worried about the effect of his visits on Jedi Revan. Now that she is back with the Order, it is another very good reason for us to disallow his visits. Not only does he endanger his son, but Revan, and by extension, all of us as well."

But Jolee was not so easily dismissed.

"Min is a grown woman. She has chosen her path, _without_ the help of this Council. In fact, she chose the path most members on this Council think is the right one." It was the wrong choice, in Jolee's opinion, and he'd made that very clear to her during several very heated arguments. But she had made her choice, and now she was living with the consequences. Consequences, he hoped, that were going to bite her on the ass shortly. "You are not giving her _or_ Dustil enough credit here."

Jolee was unsurprised when Master Vash threw in her support for Quatra, her calm and reasonable tone grating on Jolee's nerves. "While I appreciate what Admiral Onasi has done for the Order, he is not our concern. Our concern is for the training and well-being of our members. We need to guide them, show them the correct path. Allowing Admiral Onasi access to his son is courting disaster."

"I disagree," Zhar said, his voice calm but implacable. "I believe that separating Dustil Onasi from his father will accomplish nothing except having him dodge his very turbulent emotions. If he is to ever control them, he needs to face his anger and conquer it." He held up a hand to silence Quatra's protest. "And since he is _my_ padawan, I will do with him as I see fit." Zhar's pointed gaze swept across the other Council members, meeting their eyes with his, one by one. "Unless the Council deems otherwise."

Jolee knew that the Council wouldn't actually take a vote to forbid Zhar's methods – there was too much respect for the individual autonomy of a Jedi Master to do that. But that wouldn't stop them from voicing their disapproval, and expecting Zhar to fall in line accordingly. Jolee almost wished that they would take a vote; at least that way they would be taking a stand, one way or another. The passive-aggressive tactics of the Council irritated him to no end.

What was _really_ bothering the Council about this whole business was that Master Zhar was very well respected, and many Jedi Knights and Masters were beginning to follow Zhar's lead when it came to their own padawans.

"As far as Revan is concerned, Jolee is correct," Vandar said. "She has chosen not to… pursue relations with Admiral Onasi, and she has been cooperative in every task that we and the Republic government have asked her to undertake. There is no indication that she and Admiral Onasi are going to renew their relationship."

Jolee wasn't so sure about that, but he kept his mouth shut.

"I think we owe it to her to give her the benefit of the doubt that she has learned the error of her ways." Vandar's magnanimous generosity was met with a round of solemn nodding from everyone except Jolee and Zhar.

Jolee shook his head in disgust. "Only this Council would think that loving someone is an _error_."

"It was an error. You of all people should know the danger of that," Vrook stated with a calmness that was completely undercut by his clenched fists.

"I have a lot of regrets, Vrook," Jolee stated, his tone growing cold, "but loving my wife isn't one of them. This Council has a serious case of denial. Anyone who isn't half dead knows that loving someone, even if it's not always happy, or even healthy, is a part of life. Real people can't live like the emotionless drones that you want them to be. What we should be teaching people is how to control their passions while being in love-"

"How can you think that after what happened in the wake of Exar Kun? After Revan and Malak's fall?" Vrook asked, his face hard and unyielding.

_After what happened to Nayama, you mean._

Zhar spoke slowly, in a tone which required that others listen respectfully to what he had to say. "I suspect that Revan and Malak's fall had less to do with their love for one another, and more to do with the fact that we stood by and did nothing while Revan and Malak, who were barely more than children, went off to fight the war without the benefit of our experience, guidance, and wisdom. This Council let them down, and we have our share of the blame here."

Vandar voiced the protest that most of the Council members had to be thinking. "Revan and Malak made their own choices."

"Yes, they did," Jolee remarked. "But let's face it; a screwup of this magnitude can only be done by committee. The Republic dragged its feet while the Mandalorians ravaged world after world. This Order dragged its feet when the Republic needed it the most, leaving Revan and Malak alone without guidance. The Fleet thrust them into leadership positions and used them mercilessly. They were forced into making morally ambiguous, hard choices that would warp most normal people, all in the name of the greater good. In the end it was their choice, but let's face it, the Republic and the Jedi Order paved the way."

Five very angry members of the Jedi High Council glared at him from behind placid masks of false serenity. The sound of insects chirping in the garden below floated on the taut silence that settled across the room.

Jolee waited for the stock response. That the Council had good reason to keep the Jedi from joining the war, that their vision of a great evil that was laying in wait for them had come true. Jolee didn't buy it one bit. The problem with visions of the future was that they had a tendency to become self-fulfilling, and Jolee suspected that was exactly what happened in this case.

For the first time during the Council's session, Master Kavar spoke, echoing the sentiment of Quatra, Vash, Vandar, and Vrook. His tone was predictably harsh. "You were not there Jolee. You do not fully understand the choices that we had to make."

Before Jolee could retort, Vandar changed the subject. "We can sit here and speculate on what might have happened all day, but we cannot change the past, and we have far more pressing matters that need our attention. Unless anyone other than Quatra thinks that banning Admiral Onasi from the Temple is a good idea, he will be allowed to continue his visits."

Vandar paused and waited for an objection that never came. Although it was unspoken, everyone knew that banning Carth from the Jedi Temple would start a political firestorm that the Order did not need at the moment. "No? Good." He glanced over at Quatra, whose face was twisted in frustration. "Rest easy, Quatra. Revan will continue to be monitored."

"In the meantime, we have a serious… problem," Vrook stated, as though he wasn't quite certain how to continue. A chill crept through Jolee's tired bones. Vrook was a lot of things: arrogant, self-righteous, rigid, prickly, but the one thing he wasn't, was uncertain. He nodded towards Vandar.

The small green sentient's pointy ears unfurled ominously as he touched his knuckles to his lips thoughtfully. After a tense pause, Vandar spoke. "The Jedi Order is under attack."

The only reaction from the stunned members of the Council was a slight murmur that crept throughout the room. All eyes were fixed on Vrook as the Council members waited patiently. Jolee had to admit that part of the benefit of being in a room devoid of youth was the calmness with which a statement like that was taken.

_On the other hand, that might be the problem…_

But as Vrook spoke, the tension in the room climbed higher, and Jolee saw what no one ever wanted to see from six of the most powerful sentients in the Republic.

Fear.

* * *

Canderous ducked. 

The blade whistled through the space where his head had been as he lunged. Canderous' practice sword caught his opponent square in the chest, knocking the kid backwards a couple of meters and onto his backside. Had Canderous not been using blunted practice blades and pulled his blow at the last minute, he would have impaled the boy. It was a blow that should never have landed, even for someone who was nearly as hopeless with a blade as Kel Algwinn.

Canderous loomed over the boy, who was gingerly rubbing his stomach. "What the hell is wrong with you? Get your head out of your ass and focus!"

Kel looked up at him as though he were a kicked kinrath pup. The expression on his face was absolutely pitiful, which had no effect on Canderous other than annoying him further.

"Get up," Canderous barked. "Get up and do it again."

Kel gritted his teeth and picked himself up off the ground. He raised his blade again, but Canderous could tell that the kid still wasn't focused. They circled each other once more in the practice ring in the training room of the Jedi Temple. Several dozen or so padawans, who were paired off as sparring partners, stopped what they were doing and watched in rapt attention; Canderous decided that it was time to teach this young whelp and the rest of this sorry lot a lesson. He tossed his practice blades aside and advanced on the kid barehanded.

A collective gasp came from the watching padawans, and Kel's jaw dropped. Revan, who was watching the training with Jolee and Yuthura, tried to hide her amusement behind one of her hands. Yuthura crossed her arms, coiled her lekku about her neck, and frowned. Canderous wondered if her displeasure was with his training methods, or with the ineptitude of her former student.

Kel continued staring at Canderous in shock, as if he were wondering what he was supposed to do now. Canderous noted with a satisfied grunt that he had Kel's full attention now.

"Attack me," Canderous demanded.

"But… but… you're unarmed!"

"Attack me!"

"But I might hurt you!"

"Kid, if you actually manage to hurt me, I'll retire from fighting for good. Now attack, dammit! And don't hold back on your Force powers, either."

But Kel just stood there like some kind of slack-jawed backwater yokel, and Canderous wondered how the hell someone like Kel had managed to survive the Academy on Korriban.

Fed up with the boy's incompetence, Canderous lunged. Kel stumbled backwards a few steps out of reach, clutching his practice sword in a death grip. Canderous felt the slight tug of a Force wave, but the kid was so jittery that it barely broke Canderous' stride. Canderous' powerful hand shot out to snatch the blade out of Kel's hand, and Kel predictably took the bait, trying to bat Canderous' hand away.

While the kid was in mid-swing, Canderous stepped to the side and tripped the boy, who was unable to recover and change direction. Kel went sprawling facefirst into the practice mat and his practice blade went skittering from his hand.

Canderous looked down at Kel and shook his head. "Useless. Get lost, and don't come back until you're ready to learn something."

Kel picked himself off the ground a second time and turned on Canderous. Naked rage crossed the boy's features, twisting his kind face into something unrecognizable. Canderous watched curiously to see if the boy was going to try to attack him.

Kel stared at him for almost a minute, then finally turned and left, stalking off though the crowd of hushed padawans. Yuthura and Revan exchanged worried glances, and the Twi'lek murmured something in a low tone that Canderous couldn't hear. Revan nodded, and Yuthura rushed off in the direction that the boy had disappeared to.

With an annoyed grunt, Canderous picked up the three practice blades and surveyed the crowd for his next victim. Most of the padawans shrunk back, trying their best to look inconspicuous, except for Dustil Onasi.

"You didn't have to do that," Dustil said, stepping forward out of the mass of padawans, his jaw set in a hard line. The expression was one that Canderous was very familiar with; Dustil's resemblance to his father was uncanny. It was like looking at an eighteen-year-old version of Carth. Unexpectedly, he felt an odd twinge, wondering what it would have been like to have a son of his own.

_He wouldn't have been such an ungrateful whelp._

Personally, he thought that father and son should settle their differences the old-fashioned way: by kicking the hell out of each other. But he doubted the pilot would take his advice on that.

Canderous shrugged. "It needed to be done. If he can't focus during combat, then he's a liability."

"He's just having a hard time, alright? He just lost his friend-"

"I don't care what his problem is, and neither will any enemy he faces. He needs to toughen up or he's going to get killed."

The expression on Dustil's face went from anger at Canderous to worry for his friend. Canderous' eyes narrowed suspiciously. "But you know that already, didn't you?"

Dustil glared at him, confirming his suspicion. "He's a good guy. He doesn't need to be like us."

At that, Canderous realized how hopelessly soft Kel Algwinn had made it through the cutthroat Korriban Academy. It appeared that overprotectiveness was a trait that the Onasi males shared.

"You aren't helping him by fighting his battles for him. You're just making him weaker."

"What do you know about it?" Dustil snapped.

"Plenty." He tossed Dustil one of the practice blades, which the kid snatched deftly out of the air. "Now do you want to train, or not?"

Dustil didn't say anything, but he gave Canderous a curt nod. Unlike his friend, once Dustil began to circle his opponent, he was completely focused, another trait that he seemed to share with his hot-headed father. But then Onasi wouldn't have been able to survive two wars and their Star Forge mission if he hadn't been able to focus during battle.

The kid was a good swordsman, far superior to his father who heavily favored blasters and fists over blades. Dustil was nowhere near Canderous' abilities, but then Canderous had a lifetime of combat under his belt, so that was to be expected. Still, Dustil had potential, and if he continued training, he would eventually be Canderous' equal.

But not today.

Canderous struck with the subtlety of an avalanche, and Dustil was immediately thrown on the defensive with no opportunity to attack. Practice blades connected with sharp cracks as Dustil held his ground while Canderous systematically and relentlessly took his defenses apart. Unlike Kel, Dustil was tough, resilient and, most importantly, focused. He watched and analyzed every move Canderous made and was quick to take direction and make adjustments.

He was in the middle of showing Dustil a complex series of parries that the boy was picking up fairly quickly when Master Zhar appeared at the side of the ring. Everyone's attention snapped to the Jedi Master, who looked almost upset. While his face was calm, his lekku seemed to twitch involuntarily in agitation. Canderous frowned; it was highly unlike the normally serene Jedi Master to show this kind of agitation, and he wondered what could have upset the Twi'lek so much that he would lose his composure.

"I have an announcement to make," Mastar Zhar said as he regarded the attentive group of padawans. "Until further notice, you are all restricted to the Jedi Temple, no exceptions." A shocked murmur washed through the crowd. "This includes everyone: Masters, Knights, padawans and apprentices. All visitors will have to be cleared through the Jedi Council. That is all."

Master Zhar left the practice room, leaving a worried group of twittering padawans and apprentices in his wake. Canderous shot a questioning look over at Revan, who looked grim as she shook her head.

Realizing that there was no way his young charges were going to be able to focus now, and since it was near the end of the training session anyway, Canderous dismissed the padawans with a gruff command and walked over to where Revan was watching the stunned crowd disperse, hoping to get some answers.

* * *

As Carth stepped through the weapons detector at the main entrance of the Jedi Temple, a disturbing sense of unease settled over him. The new military guards at the front gate worried the hell out of him, since as far as he knew the Jedi Council had never felt the need for them before. Usually, the Jedi had their own padawans on guard duty and Carth wondered where the normal Jedi guards were. 

The security guard nodded, and allowed Carth to keep his blaster belt. Carth moved to the other side of the gate as he waited for Senator Nat'al and his staff to pass the newfound security. While he was waiting, his son appeared in the entranceway. Dustil's face was unreadable as he approached him, and Carth sighed.

_Just once, I wish he'd be happy to see me._

"Father."

Carth tried to suppress a wince at the formal address.

"Hey, Dee," he said as he stuffed his hands into his battered orange jacket. "They sent you to be our guide?"

"Yeah." Dustil looked at him curiously. "Do you know what this meeting is about?"

"No. No clue."

Carth had received a call from Senator Nat'al just that morning, requesting that Carth meet him here at the Jedi Temple. Although Carth had been wary, he hadn't been able to turn down the Senator's request, since the Senator had been instrumental in getting Min's pardon pushed through. Simply put, Carth owed him more than one enormous favor, and for that matter, so did the entire Jedi Council. He wondered if it had anything to do with the sensational murder of the Senator's family a few days ago.

"Why is there all this new security?"

"I dunno, but it's weird. Yesterday we were told that no one was allowed to leave the Temple, and today, I heard that the Order is recalling all of its members, even the Knights and Masters assigned to other planets. And now we have these new guards."

Carth just stared at Dustil in total shock.

Dustil nodded towards the Senator, who was retrieving his cane from one of the guards. "And today there's this big meeting, which I guess is why you're here."

The Senator and his entourage joined them, effectively ending all further speculation between father and son.

Dustil led the Senator's entourage and his father somberly through the massive Jedi Temple, and an uncomfortable silence fell. Carth glanced sideways at the Senator as he walked; the man, quite simply, looked broken. Dark circles hung under his eyes and his mouth was fixed in a hard, grim line. But then the man had just lost his only child and oldest grandson in a horrific murder, and his other two grandchildren were still missing. Carth understood what the man was going through all too well. The Senator had lost everything, and that made him one very dangerous man.

He looked over at his son, who was still so angry and resentful, and was grateful that he didn't have to face what the Senator was facing. Even with all their problems, Carth wasn't sure if he would be able to get over the loss of his son a second time.

Senator Nat'al fell into step next to him, and by some unspoken signal, his staff seemed to move a few steps away while they crossed the large open courtyard and garden. The only sounds were the soft whisper of fabric of the Senator's long ice-blue robes and the creak of leather from his four very large bodyguards.

"You're probably wondering why I asked you here today," he said.

Carth didn't say anything, just giving Senator Nat'al a wary nod. While he liked the Senator, Carth had a healthy suspicion of all politicians. Senator Nat'al was one of the more palatable ones he'd met, probably because before his elevation to Senator, he'd been a career Fleet man. The Senator had made it all the way up to the rank of Commodore, from all reports by merit and not nepotism, before his leg was badly damaged in a skirmish with Androvan pirates. Carth had served briefly under him for several months before the Mandalorian Wars had begun, and had found the man to be an exceptional leader. He walked with the assistance of a grav cane now, although Carth suspected that the cane was mostly for show.

"You're a good man, Onasi. I've followed your career and I know that you'll be honest and straight with me." The Senator shot a look over at Dustil, but his son's presence didn't stop him from speaking frankly. "You've also lost your family, so you understand where I'm coming from. You have a lot of experience dealing with the Jedi Council, and I'm going to need your help getting the truth out of them."

_Good luck with that…_

"The truth about what, Senator?"

The Senator's face hardened. "The truth about why my daughter and grandson were murdered, and where the hell my other two grandchildren are."

"You think the Jedi Council had something to do with that?" While Carth wasn't the biggest fan of the Jedi Order, he simply couldn't imagine them being behind such senseless slaughter of complete innocents.

"Do I think they murdered them? No. But they know who did it, and why, and I want to know what they are going to do about it. They're going to help me find the bastards who did this to my family."

Carth and Dustil exchanged a worried look after the Senator lapsed into tense silence. Carth pushed, because he really didn't want to be blindsided, but all of his further questions to the Senator about why they were there were met with a polite rebuff and explanation that everything would become clear at the meeting.

With great unease, Carth walked into the Jedi Council's conference chamber and took a seat next to the Senator, his gut telling him that in a short period of time, all hell was going to break loose.

* * *

Dustil made his way back to the room he shared with Kel, irritated and disappointed that he hadn't been allowed to stay for the meeting. Rumors had been flying throughout the Jedi Temple since it had been closed to outsiders two days ago, and all the padawans and apprentices were dying of curiosity. 

As the door opened, the sound of girlish giggles assaulted his ears.

"What the…" The words died on his lips as he took in the scene in front of him.

Mission was sitting cross-legged next to the boring little astromech droid, who was plugged into a wall-mounted data jack. Kel was sitting next to her, almost smiling, while they adjusted a new holoscreen that hadn't been there when he'd left that morning. Mekel was sprawled over Dustil's bed, watching the two of them, and not-so-subtly checking out Mission as she worked.

Seeing Mission invade not only his room, but chattering and laughing with the two guys who were _supposed_ to be his best friends, summoned the predictable bitterness and anger. Apparently, she wasn't just interested in taking his place with his father, but she also wanted to steal his friends from him too. He was about to throw her bratty Twi'lek ass out of his room when something stopped him.

Kel laughed.

It was forced and brittle, but it was a hell of a lot better than anything he'd seen from his friend in the last week.

_Dammit._

Dustil sighed in defeat, not having the heart to wreck his friend's almost decent mood. He swallowed his resentment and resolved to try to get along with her, just this once.

Mission, being Mission, tested his resolve immediately by pulling a face and remarking, "Dustil, you nerf-herder, don't you ever clean up around here?" She gestured across at the chaos of their shared bedroom. "This place is a dump."

During the best of times their room was hardly neat, and both Kel and Dustil were pretty careless about their belongings, which were strewn haphazardly throughout the room. A pile of dirty laundry sat at the foot of each bed, while a pile of clean laundry was piled before the dressers. Dustil's art supplies too up one corner of the room, while Kel's corner was cluttered with datapads, plants, and vials that he used in his medical studies.

Dustil had been relieved that Kel had finally found a place in the Jedi Order when he discovered that he had a talent and interest in healing. Although it annoyed him, Dustil knew that Canderous was right about his friend. Kel was too… _nice_ for combat.

He scowled down at Mission, kicking a pile of music chips underneath his rumpled bed and shoving Mekel's legs aside so that he could sit down. "You're one to talk. I've seen how messy _you_ normally are."

"Yeah, but at least _my_ rooms don't stink like bantha fodder."

Although he'd never admit it out loud, he had to admit that she had a point; it was smelling rather musty in there.

"No, usually it smells like unwashed Wookiee."

Mission snickered. "Heh, true, but don't let Big Z hear you say that. He insists that _we're_ the ones who smell bad."

"Where is Zaalbar anyway?" Mekel asked. Dustil rolled his eyes in disgust at the near worshipfulness that his friend had towards the girl. Mekel's obsession with Mission had only intensified over the last two years, which made him nearly impossible to be around when Mission was near. Mekel even had a mini-shrine to her set up in his room, made up of posters and holoprints of her, and Dustil wondered how she'd react if she found out about it.

_She'd probably freak out._

He almost told her, but stopped reminding himself that he was trying to get along with her today.

"He's with Min at the meeting with the Council. I can't believe the crusty geezers let him go and not me." She scowled at the injustice of the situation, as though she really expected the Jedi Council would allow her to sit in on this meeting that was only open to a select few. Even most of the Knights and Masters in the Temple weren't allowed to go, so the odds of letting in a Twi'lek kid was pretty much nil.

She smirked in satisfaction. "Lucky for me I have a plan." Before Dustil could demand an explanation for that cryptic remark, T3 warbled ominously, and the holoscreen flickered to life, revealing the conference chamber where it looked as though the meeting was about to start.

"Awesome, Tee!" At Mission's praise, the droid let out a string of cocky beeps before finally settling down.

Dustil looked at the screen and swallowed. If the Masters found out that Mission had used T3 to hack into the vid system, 'deep shit' wasn't going to cover the amount of trouble they were going to be in. On the other hand, he really, really wanted to know what was going on in that meeting. He looked over at his friends and saw that they were just as curious as he was. So Dustil settled in and waited for the show to begin.

* * *

The meeting began with a bang. It was unsurprising, really, since the tension in the room was so thick that Min could practically taste it. Even though empathy was by far her weakest Force ability, Min's senses were buzzing with the fear and antagonism pouring from the Jedi Council and Senator Nat'al. 

From the little bit that she knew about the situation, she expected they were gathered there to talk about the attack that happened over a week ago. But she had no clue as to why Carth and the Senator were here.

She tried not to look at Carth as he shrugged off his jacket and draped it over the back of his chair before he took a seat. Just looking at the battered and worn leather brought back a flood of memories, both good and bad, and she ached to reach out and touch it.

_Let it go, Min. Let him go._

Carth sat rigidly, suspicious and alert, next to the Senator, scrutinizing the Jedi Council, suspicion plain on his face. Not wanting him to catch her looking, she turned her attention back to the center of the room, where Master Vandar was seated at the large crescent-shaped Council table, with the rest of the Council that was currently on planet.

Both Carth and Min looked simultaneously at Jolee, who looked very… grim. His usual casual indifference was gone, replaced by deep worry and concern. He just frowned at both of them and inclined his head to Master Vandar at the center of the room.

Vrook cleared his throat and regarded his non-Council audience. Everyone's attention was immediately riveted to him when he cleared his throat and spoke, but before he could speak, Senator Nat'al, who looked like hell, stood and faced off against Vandar.

"Thank you for coming, Senator," Vrook began. "We appreciate your presence and support. The Council wishes to extend their condolences-"

"Let's cut through the bantha shit, shall we? We both know the only reason I'm here is because this Council owes me, and now I'm calling in a favor. I know the people who killed my family and kidnapped my grandchildren have ties to this Council, and I want to know what you are going to do about it."

Everyone who wasn't a Council member looked at the Senator in shock, but even more shocking was the way the Council members seemed completely unsurprised, as though they had been expecting this outburst.

Vrook stared intently at the Senator. "What evidence do you have of this?"

The Senator held up a small disk in his hand. "This marker, which was left at my daughter's apartment, has a message on it claiming that her murder was committed in the defense of the Republic. The murderers also claim they are the sworn enemy of the Jedi."

"And the Sith," Jolee interjected. "In fact, their sworn goal is to cleanse the galaxy of all Force Sensitives, regardless of their affiliations. We know this because they sent us a message shortly after their attack on four of our members."

Jolee looked over at Bastila, Juhani and Yuthura. "This, unfortunately, wasn't the first attack against our members. They are also claiming responsibility for the shuttle explosion last month that killed seven of our Order, and the recent deaths of three of our Masters, who have been missing for the last two days, and whose bodies were recovered this morning. They are also claiming responsibility for the deaths of eleven Dark Jedi, twenty-one civilians, and the kidnapping of nine children."

"Why are they telling you this?" Carth asked. "Wouldn't it be easier to pick you off in anonymity?"

"Because they want us to be afraid," Min murmured, and everyone turned to look at her.

Jolee continued to elaborate. "They claim that these murders are for the safety and good of the Republic. They also claim that the Jedi Council has used its tainted abilities to control the Republic government, and that the time for the toleration for such blatantly dangerous abominations is at an end, and that they will not rest until we are all wiped out or… reeducated. We believe that that is their intent with your grandchildren."

"Did they make any demands?" Min asked.

"No. And they made it quite clear that there will be no negations with them."

"How can they think that the slaughter of innocents could solve anything?" Bastila asked.

The other Jedi murmured in agreement, but Min knew what terrible rationalization probably lay behind this. "Because if I had never been born, how many innocents would still be alive? If Exar Kun hadn't gone on his rampage for power, how many people would now be growing old?"

"But what of all the good that we have done?" Juhani protested. "Surely they can see that?"

"I don't know. Maybe they think that overall, without Force users, the galaxy is safer… that the good that we do is outweighed by the danger that we are."

"That is ludicrous!" Bastila stated with a disdainful shake of her head.

"Is it? How many of us in the Order were once dark Jedi?" Min looked around the room at Bastila, Yuthura and Juhani. She tried to keep her voice even as she spoke. "I'm responsible for the deaths of millions, and that's just me. That doesn't include Malak or the Sith empire or Exar Kun's war."

"And how many lives have you saved? We wouldn't be sitting here if it weren't for you," Carth pointed out fiercely. Min lapsed into silence.

"Regardless of their motives, we need to put a stop to it, and find out where they have taken the Senator's grandchildren. Their Force-suppressing technology seems to be a problem." Vandar gave a brief overview of the nature of the circlets and the small metal cylinder found on their attackers. "Fortunately, the technology also gives us a small lead." Vandar nodded to Min, indicating that he wished her to elaborate.

"The Force-suppressing technology is somehow linked to the Rakatan Empire. When I was Darth Revan, I discovered a circlet identical to the ones here on the Rakatan homeworld. The best place to start looking for answers is probably there."

The Senator focused on Vrook. "Then you need to send a group there, immediately."

"That is going to be difficult. The best person to send, the one with the archaeological knowledge and the most influence with the Rakata themselves, is Jedi Revan."

Min blinked. This was the first inkling she'd had that they wanted to send her to the Rakatan planet.

"I can see why that would be difficult," the Senator said slowly. There were a lot of influential people who had pushed for her execution. Min knew that her traveling outside of the Jedi Temple was going to be problematic.

But the Senator immediately dismissed it. "I will take care of the necessary political wrangling. She will, of course, have to be watched at all times. And it would help greatly if she were to travel within the custody of the Fleet…" He looked at Carth expectantly. "Admiral Onasi?"

Carth cleared his throat and nodded slowly. "I think I can take care of that. There are ships that leave rather frequently for Rakatan space, especially since the Republic is trying to set up trade relations there."

"I would also request that Admiral Onasi join this group."

Dead silence blazed through the room as everyone, including Min and Carth, goggled at the Senator. Dread filled Min's belly, because she could see that Carth liked the idea.

_No, no, no…_

The members of the Council murmured almost in unison their displeasure of this development. "This is Jedi business, Senator," Vrook stated, calmly but firmly.

"No, it's not," Carth pointed out. "More than just the Jedi are in danger, and that makes it Republic business."

Vrook spoke directly to the Senator as though Carth wasn't even there. "The Admiral's presence would be completely unnecessary."

The fact that the Council clearly didn't want Carth to be a part of this only seemed to fuel the Senator's resolve. "I believe that it is necessary. I want him to be my eyes and ears. I don't know you, but I know him. Your goals and mine are different. I want to make certain that my interests don't get buried for the greater good."

"Our interests are the same," Vandar interjected smoothly, trying to do some damage control.

"No, they are not. You want to stop the attacks. I want my grandchildren recovered and justice for my family, which is something that Admiral Onasi understands."

"Admiral Onasi must have something better to do than babysit a bunch of Jedi," Min pointed out in desperation.

"Nope. I'm retired." She could see the beginnings of a smirk tug at the corner of his lips. "Besides, babysitting Jedi is something I'm really familiar with…"

"You don't have any reason to come," Min shot back, temper rising.

"My son. If people are killing Force Sensitives, then my son is in danger. I have more of a reason to go than anyone else you could get."

Min's lips thinned in exasperation. There was nothing she could say to that.

_Dammit!_

"Besides, with this Force-suppressing technology, you're going to need someone to watch your back."

"I have Canderous and Zaalbar," she pointed out. The _I don't need you_ was unspoken but clear.

He did smirk now. "And now you're going to have _me_."

The Council remained silent, but their disapproval throbbed throughout the room. Min knew that if the Senator insisted on Carth's inclusion, then they were stuck. The Senator was a necessary ally, and he could stir up too much trouble politically if they refused him. For that matter, so could Carth. Given their present precarious relations with the Republic Senate and Fleet, it was trouble that they desperately needed to avoid.

So when Vandar said, "We will take your request under consideration," she knew they had lost. The Council would deliberate, but it would be a mere formality.

The remainder of the meeting was spent hammering out the details of who else would be going with her, and how it would be handled. Min was so angry that she barely heard a word. Finally the Council convened to their chamber to make their decision. Carth and the Senator talked in low voices for a few minutes as the other Jedi in the room began to disperse. Bastila, Juhani and Yuthura all looked at her expectantly, but she waved them away. Eventually everyone exited the chamber, and she and Carth were alone.

Min stood slowly, took a steadying breath and met his eyes with her own. "Please don't do this," she asked, somehow managing to keep her voice mostly calm and steady, even though she was exasperated beyond all belief.

Carth crossed his arms over his broad chest. "Do what?"

"What do you _think_?" she snapped, hardly in the mood to play games.

Carth had been hounding her ever since Mission had arrived, using the Twi'lek girl as an excuse to show up at unexpected moments, and Min's patience was at an end. It had gotten to the point where she'd had to resort to avoiding her own rooms, because Mission kept helping him by giving him reasons to be there. Lucky for her, the Jedi Temple was a large place, making it difficult for him to find her most of the time.

He simply looked at her and calmly pointed out the facts that she couldn't refute. "This mission needs my help. _You_ need my help. And you know that it will be a lot easier with the Fleet if I go along and smooth things over."

"Arrange for someone else to go in your place," she demanded, her composure beginning to crack under the weight of her frustration.

"Now why would I do that?" he asked with a feigned indifference that didn't fool her for a second. Her Jedi senses were ringing from the coiled anger and frustration radiating from him.

She tried not to yell. "Because I'm asking you to."

His eyes narrowed as he scrutinized her thoroughly, and Min suppressed the urge to squirm. "Why does it matter to you whether or not I come?"

_Oh, no. I'm not going there…_

She tried to dodge the question. "We both know that it will be better for everyone involved if you stay behind.

Carth's eyebrows rose as he challenged her. "And why is that? Why would it be better if I stay behind?"

"Why are you playing these games? You know why!"

He kept pushing and pushing, maddeningly insisting on opening old wounds. "No, I don't, Min. I don't know why you don't want me to come, the same way I don't know why you shoved me away two years ago!"

Worn out, she sighed and rubbed the bridge of her nose. "Carth, my reasons were pretty obvious."

"Maybe they were." He stood abruptly. "But I want to hear them from you. That's the least I deserve."

Min didn't even know how to start or where to begin, so she just stared at him, trying to figure out what to say.

Carth began to move towards her, slowly, and Min fought down the urge to turn and run. He stopped, resting his hand on the chair that was between them, and she was grateful that he didn't try to touch her; she didn't think she could bear it if he did. But his words hurt even worse.

His voice was hoarse and soft, and the hurt look on his face made her want to weep. "You loved me. I know you did. And I loved you, too. I wanted to protect you, to share my life with you, and I thought you wanted that too."

Min squeezed her eyes shut, because she couldn't bear to look at him, wishing that the intervening two years had lessened the pain, but the emptiness and loss she felt was just as sharp as it was the day she'd given him up.

"I did," she said, so softly that it was barely above a whisper. "I wanted that more than anything."

_I still do._

She forced herself to open her eyes and meet his gaze. "But sometimes what you want, and what is right, are two completely different things. I chose to do the _right_ thing."

The look he gave her was raw and ragged, and he pushed her for an explanation that she did not want to give. "You keep saying that, but what you did ripped me to pieces! You threw everything we had away! How could it be right?"

"It was the right thing," she insisted. Even though her decision had been unbearably painful, she never doubted that she had made the right choice, and she found her strength and her resolve in that certainty. "You know what would have happened to you if it had gotten out that we were…"

Min's voice trailed off because she couldn't say it out loud, but he could. "In love, dammit! We were in love!" She tried not to flinch at his use of the past tense.

"You would have been in the center of scandal. Your career would have been in tatters and your good name would have been dragged through the mud. The media, the Senate, your superiors would have torn you to apart."

"Are you telling me that you did it to protect me?" His anger finally boiled to the surface as he began to shake in outrage and frustration that had been pent up for nearly two years. "How _dare_ you! That was _my_ decision to make not yours!"

She stood firm in the torrent of his anger, crossing her arms under her breasts as she faced his fury. "You would have chosen me, and I couldn't let you do that. You deserve better."

"You decided that I was incapable of making the right decision myself, so you did it for me." The way he ground out his words told her exactly how furious he was with her.

"It would have been horrible, Carth. Why do you think Dodonna started the rumors about you and Bastila?"

Completely shocked, he fired the question off like a blaster shot. "_What?_"

"It was to protect both of you."

Carth clenched the back of the chair so tightly that the wood creaked and his knuckles turned white. His voice was measured fury, as though he was desperately trying not to hit something. He bit the words out. "It was your idea, wasn't it?"

She lifted her chin and looked him in the eyes, completely unrepentant. "Yes."

He shoved the chair aside and the legs of the chair made a protesting squeak. Suddenly, Min felt a lot more exposed as Carth's self-control broke, and his anger and frustration rang through his voice as he raged at her. "Dammit, woman, it was _my_ name, _my_ career on the line! What gave you the right to do that?"

Determined to make him see reason, she pushed ahead and ignored his outrage. "It wasn't just about your career and reputation. There was also Dustil."

Carth measured his words out, as he tried to convince her of the impossible. "Dustil would have been _my_ problem. He would eventually have come around."

"Really? Have you seen the way he looks at me? He _hates_ me, Carth… and he should." Min didn't blame Dustil for his completely justified hatred of her, and she was actually rather surprised that he hadn't tried to kill her. She knew that if she were in Dustil's shoes, she wouldn't be so restrained, and that was part of the problem. "The two of you are barely on speaking terms now," she pointed out ruthlessly. "That wouldn't even be possible if we were still lovers."

"We would have worked it out. I would have _made_ it work," he stated with a stubborn blindness that cut Min's heart to shreds, confirming her belief that she had made the right decision.

She tried to make him see the truth. "No. You would have been torn between him and me, and I couldn't let that happen."

He clenched his fists. "You don't know that!"

"I couldn't take that risk. Just like I couldn't take the risk that…"

"That what?"

She squared her shoulders and prepared herself for his tirade, because she knew that he wouldn't be able to accept what she was about to say, even though he needed to hear it. "Carth, has it ever occurred to you that the Jedi Council might have been right about how dangerous it is for a Jedi to be in love?"

"_What?_ You can't seriously believe that!"

She hit him with hard facts. "There have been seventy-three attempts on my life in the last two years. If we were still lovers, people would be trying to kill you, too -"

"Another choice that was mine to make!" he fumed, and she felt his anger go white hot. "I can take care of myself."

"If you were killed, what do you think that would do to me? I wouldn't just be devastated, Carth, I would be furious, and I would want to make whoever did that to you pay."

He was so shocked that it took him a few seconds to find his voice. His anger faded into worry and concern. "You're afraid of turning back into Darth Revan, because of me?" he said slowly, as though he couldn't quite believe it.

"During the whole time we were looking for the Star Maps, there were two times that I almost fell, and both of them had to do with you."

"Ajunta Pall's blade wasn't your fault. And you fought the dark side and won."

"But that wasn't the only time. When Saul was torturing you… if I had been able to touch the Force, I would have used the dark side to kill him, and then gone after the Jedi Council for keeping my identity a secret." She shook her head, and her voice cracked as she spoke. "I'm sorry, Carth, but I won't risk turning into Darth Revan again, not even for you."

He dismissed her fear with a curt shake of his head. "No. I don't believe you would have fallen then, anymore that I believe that you'll fall now." His complete trust and belief in her was so much worse than any suspicion or anger would have been.

"I fell once before," she protested, her eyes burning with unshed tears as she tried desperately to make him understand.

"But you're different now. That's not you anymore."

Overcome by guilt and shame, she couldn't meet his eyes. "That's just it, Carth. I'm not different. You've seen the reports. I know you have, because I asked Dodonna to give them to you." She'd expected that he would be disgusted by what he read, but maddeningly they hadn't affected him at all. "I'm the same person I was before. They tried to give me a new personality, but they couldn't. They couldn't even give me a new name…"

Carth reached out to touch her shoulder, but Min backed away, knowing that if he touched her she'd fall apart. "You won't fall again, Min," he said, his voice firm and implacable.

"I know that you believe that. He did, too." She met his eyes then, and spoke softly. "He was a good man, Carth, one of the best I've ever known. Just like you… and I loved him so much." Carth winced; she took a deep breath and forced herself to state the truth: "I loved him and I twisted his goodness against him."

"I'm _not_ Malak," he stated vehemently, and with the same forcefulness that she had said about Saul two years ago.

Paralyzed by guilt and grief, she just looked down at her trembling hands, and didn't say anything.

He took another step towards her, but to her relief he didn't try to touch her. His eyes searched her face for answers. "Do you even know for sure that you were responsible for his fall? Or is this just your guilt talking?"

"He told me when we fought. He always followed wherever I led…" The bits and pieces of her shattered memories had only confirmed this, and while she couldn't remember specifically what she'd done to him, she knew in her gut that it was true, that somehow she had used him horribly.

Carth, predictably, wasn't buying it. "Malak was a grown man, and he is responsible for the choices that he made, not you."

"And I am responsible for the choices that I made." Her voice shook as she struggled to keep her composure. "I am trying to do the right thing here, so please, leave me alone. Let me go on this mission without you."

His denial was immediate and firm. "No."

At her wits' end, she looked into his honest brown eyes and pleaded with him. "Carth, this is hard enough as it is. Why do you have to make this so damn difficult?"

The question caught her so completely off guard that she almost answered him out loud. "Do you still love me, Min?"

_Yes._

She tried to think of something to say, a lie forming on the tip of her tongue, but she just couldn't bring herself to lie to him. Her silence was answer enough. She watched as comprehension blossomed across his shocked face. Worse, she knew that he still loved her, because she could feel it pouring off of him, mixed in with the anger and frustration that he was feeling. There was a long pause as they just stared at each other in naked, breathless silence, until finally he spoke.

His features cemented into hard, unshakable resolve, and Min's stomach twisted in panic. It was the reason why she'd refused to talk to him face-to-face two years ago. Having had firsthand experience with Carth's stubborn tenacity, she knew that it meant he wouldn't be put off or denied any longer, and that he was not, under any circumstances, going to let this go. Especially now that he knew how she felt.

_Oh, shit._

"I am going on this mission. You are going to have to deal with me, and you won't have anywhere to hide. We are going to figure this whole mess out between us, whether you like it or not." She was surprised by how remarkably calm he sounded. "There's more to your reasons than what you've told me, and I am going to get to the bottom of this. But right now, I need to make preparations for our trip."

He left her standing in the middle of the Council chambers, panicking and trying to figure out what to do.

* * *

Dustil stared at the holoscreen, and watched his father stride out of the Council chamber, wishing like hell he had stopped Mission from spying. The four of them sat stunned, in shocked silence, but none of them moved to turn the holovid off. 

Revan began to pace the Council chambers, wringing her hands, clearly agitated by the conversation she'd just had with his father. And then suddenly, she turned and stopped. Dustil saw her face twist, and tears began to stream down her face as she approached the chair that his father had occupied. Slowly, she picked up the battered orange flight jacket that was draped over the back of the chair. In a gesture that gave him chills, she buried her face in the worn leather, calling up a memory that Dustil had almost forgotten.

_Rubbing his eyes with the back of his hand, Dustil swung his lanky legs out of bed and shuffled over to the bedroom door, which opened with a quiet swoosh. It was late, and the hallway was dimly lit by the ghostly flickering light of the holovid screen which was playing softly. Reaching the top of the stairs, Dustil squinted and waited for his eyes to adjust. _

_Something was wrong._

_The powerful wave of sadness and fear coming from his mother almost made him stumble. Looking down, he could see that she was wearing his father's black bathrobe over her plain grey pajamas and watching the news vid intently, tears flowing down her pretty face as the announcer droned on._

"…_the Fifth Division Fleet took heavy casualties today when they repelled the Mandalorians over Yag'Dul. The Republic reports over one hundred and fifty thousand casualties as the result of the four-day battle… " _

_His mother's face twisted and she buried her face in the sleeve of the robe; he could hear her soft sobs muffled by the thick material. Dustil felt another wave of fear and pain and loneliness from his mother as he quickly went down the stairs. She must have heard him, because she looked up, her blue eyes bright with tears._

"_Dee, what are you doing up?" she asked in a shaky voice as she fumbled to turn the vid channel. She quickly wiped her tears away with the back of her hand and schooled her face into near calmness._

_Dustil didn't want to tell her that he'd felt her sadness, because when he mentioned those kinds of things, his Mom got scared, even though he knew that sometimes she could feel his feelings, too. So he lied. "I was thirsty. Are you okay, Mom?"_

_She cleared her throat, and reached out her arms for him. "I'm fine, Dee."_

_He usually didn't like to snuggle with his mother anymore, since that was the kind of thing little kids did, but he could feel how miserable she was, so he sat down next to her. She hugged him close and wrapped his father's robe around both of them. He could smell his father's scent, the earthy and strong soap that he used enveloping him as he burrowed in next to his mother. _

_It reminded Dustil of when he would sit on the sink in the 'fresher and watch his father shave. Last time, his father had lathered up Dustil's cheeks. They had gotten shaving cream all over the 'fresher and each other, and while Mom had complained about the mess they had made, she had laughed along with them._

"_You're worried about Dad, aren't you? His ship is in that battle, isn't it?"_

_His mother swallowed and looked down at him. "Yes. His ship is in that battle. But I know he'll be fine."_

_Dustil didn't quite believe it, because she still looked really sad and worried. "Then why were you crying?" Dustil knew that she cried a lot at night when she thought he was asleep._

"_Because I miss him." She gave him a weary smile. Dustil missed his father, too, although he got pretty mad at him sometimes, like now, when his mother was crying. _

_Dustil had a flash of insight. "Is that why you're wearing his robe?"_

"_Mmm-hmm. If I close my eyes, it's almost like he's here." _

_Dustil tried it. He closed his eyes, and pretended that his father was here. It almost worked. His mother rested her cheek on the top of his head, and stroked his hair. Slowly, he felt the tension and sadness drain away from her as they watched a sappy old romance holovid. He stayed with her for a long time, somehow knowing that she needed him to be there._

"Turn it off!" He didn't want to think of Revan doing anything remotely like his mother, but there she was, doing exactly the same thing that his mother had done. Mekel, Kel and Mission stared at him as though he'd just lost his mind.

"Turn it off, dammit!" But they stood there, frozen, just staring at him. In the back of his mind, he knew that he shouldn't do it, but he was so angry that he couldn't stop himself. Dustil focused his anger on the holovid, and a charge of electricity burst through the emitter, frying the wiring. The equipment sparked and smoldered, and the stink of burned circuitry filled the room, as Dustil stormed out.

* * *

I apologize for the long delay in getting this chapter up. Life, kinks that I had to work out of this chapter and kotor 2 all conspired against me. Hopefully the next chapter won't take nearly as long. 

Also, thanks for the feedback everyone. As always, it is very helpful. I owe another huge thank you to my ever patient beta reader, xenzen.

Jedi Kirby: when I started writing this back last October, I had no idea really what the plot of kotor 2 was going to be. Actually canonically, Min should be off wandering around the outer rim at this point (d'oh!). So while Carth and Revan are supposed to be together according to kotor 2, at the time I didn't know that (I recently got the PC version, so I've only recently played the game actually). But given the kind of person that Min is, and the enormous baggage that she is carrying around, I don't know I would have kept them together even if I had known. I'm not certain that that would make sense for her as a character. As for whether they are going to get back together, and how much this story is going to follow kotor 2 (a wonderful, but seriously problematic and flawed game), you'll have to stay tuned to find out…


	5. Bad Choices

_**Chapter Four – Bad Choices**_

_She still loves me._

For the last two days, that thought would not leave Carth alone. It ate at him, crawled under his skin, nagged at him constantly, and it was driving him crazy.

He was still furious with her. Min's arrogant presumption that she knew what was best for him really rankled, but even though he was angry with her, he was also relieved, because after two years of wondering, he'd finally gotten an answer -- at least a partial one. While Carth was still frustrated, he knew that he'd get it all from her eventually, now that she had to deal with him.

That she still loved him hadn't really come as much of a shock. It was something that he'd known, deep in his gut, and it was the reason why he'd been unable to get on with his life in any meaningful way. If she had told him two years ago that she wasn't in love with him, it would have hurt like hell, but he would have been able to get over it. However, he'd suspected something like this, and it had been absolutely maddening to be stonewalled again and again. Now he had the chance to fix it, and he was going to, because, dammit, he still loved her, too.

Carth collected his thoughts as he strode down the sparse corridor of Republic Fleet Command, eager to get his meeting with Admiral Forn Dodonna over with as quickly as possible. The Jedi entourage was leaving for the Rakatan homeworld in an hour, and Carth's gear was already aboard the _Valiant_, including the _Ebon Hawk_. When he'd told the Fleet that he wanted to bring his own ship, they hadn't even batted an eye, probably because he'd taken that ship everywhere for the last two years. Being a Republic admiral, even a retired one, definitely had its perks.

He'd agreed to meet Dodonna as a courtesy; the expedition had already been pushed through the proper channels, and she'd already given it her approval, although it had taken days to get the clearances needed for Min's off-planet departure. Dodonna hadn't tried to stop him, at least not yet, but he suspected that was about to change.

Passing the suite of offices that used to be his own, Carth reached the end of the corridor, nodded to the security guards, and entered the High Admiral's suite. It was a scene of ordered confusion, with aides, staff and droids milling about, carrying on the day-to-day duties of running the Fleet. He felt strangely underdressed, wearing only his black civvies and orange jacket in the midst of all the sleek military uniforms.

After waiting for less than a minute, Dodonna's chief aide led him into her office. The High Admiral herself sat behind an enormous hardwood desk with a stack of encoded datapads in front of her.

"Have a seat, Carth, I'll be with you in just one minute," Dodonna said without looking up from the report she was reading. She waved him towards the more informal seating area overlooking the large blast-proof windows. While Carth was waiting, he sipped a mug of caf one of her young staffers brought him.

Dodonna didn't keep him waiting long. After handing off a stack of documents to the aide who had brought him his caf, she dismissed the rest of her staff from the room, informing them that they were not to be interrupted short of a crisis situation.

Dodonna picked up her own mug and joined him in the seating area. "So you're still planning on going on this… expedition?"

Carth's tone was as dry and inviting as the Tatooine desert. "Yes."

Looking tired and resigned, Dodonna asked, "I don't suppose I can talk you out of going?"

"Not a chance."

"I didn't think so," Dodonna sighed, "but I promised her I'd try."

There was no doubt as to whom the 'her' referred to, and Carth shook his head, exasperated, but he was not surprised.

"I won't lie to you. I don't like that you are going. If you were still my admiral, I would order you not to go. I don't want the name of my most famous war hero sullied, but as it is, we cannot afford to anger Senator Na'tal, since he could make it difficult for everyone."

_So could I._ Carth left the threat unspoken, but it hung in the air between them.

"And if there is a group out there killing Republic civilians, they need to be stopped." Dodonna paused to take a sip of her caf. "On a more personal level, you are my friend. I've known you for a long time, and I'm afraid that nothing good is going to come from this."

"My personal life is none of your business."

Dodonna's gaze turned to implacable steel. "It is if it involves Revan."

"I think you've interfered enough," Carth snapped, still smarting from the realization that Dodonna and Min had started the rumors about himself and Bastila. He was about to inform her exactly how much he didn't appreciate her meddling, when she shocked him with her next statement.

"I know you might not believe this, but I actually do care about what happens to both you and Revan. I've known her for almost ten years. She was barely more than a kid when she accepted my request for help during the Mandalorian Wars. I watched her grow from an idealistic young woman to a jaded war veteran, to a Dark Lord, and back again.

"Revan was so effective, not because of her strategic knowledge or her Force powers — although those were certainly useful — but because she was willing to make the judgment calls that others weren't. Saul and I knew our tactics against the Mandalorians weren't working, but we couldn't get the Senate or our superiors to listen. But Revan convinced them that sacrificing soldiers, and planets, and resources were necessary for victory, even if it wasn't pretty, or fair, or nice. And it worked, but it twisted her." Dodonna's expression darkened. "You know how war is, Carth; it twists us and desensitizes us, because if we don't become detached, then we wouldn't be able to cope. What it must have done to someone who is a Force Sensitive, someone who has to fight the dark side of the Force… In hindsight, her fall was hardly surprising."

Dodonna wasn't telling him anything that he hadn't figured out for himself, but Carth was shocked by the sadness and guilt he heard in her voice. "You feel responsible."

"Somewhat. I was the one who asked her to leave the Order. We needed her and the Jedi so desperately. Without her, and the Jedi she brought with her, we would have lost. But if I had the chance to make the decision again, even knowing what I know now… it would still be the same."

Dodonna took a sip from her mug as she collected her thoughts. "I liked her; in fact, I still do. I consider you both friends, and as much as I would love to see the two of you happy, I have to think about what the consequences would be. The safety of the Republic is my paramount concern. I can't order you to leave her alone, but I'm asking you to please consider your actions carefully when it comes to her."

She changed the subject, perhaps sensing that any response he would make would not be satisfactory to her. "Have you considered my offer about the Republic Fleet Academy?"

Carth shifted in his chair. This was another subject that he really didn't want to get into at the moment. "Yes."

Her eyebrows rose. "And?"

"I haven't decided yet."

"The Republic needs people like you, Carth. If you don't want the Academy position, please consider taking your admiral rank back. I know you were frustrated with the diplomatic missions I was sending you on, but they were just as important as being in the field. Nevertheless, I'm prepared to put you back in charge of the Seventh Division Fleet, with minimal diplomatic missions."

"I'm not interested," he insisted stubbornly, annoyed that she was bringing this up even though she knew he'd already made his decision.

"And I'm not accepting your resignation."

"_What?_ You can't! I've already resigned — you've already accepted it!"

"I'm putting you on a leave of absence."

Carth crossed his arms over his chest. "You can call it whatever you want, but I'm not taking another commission."

"You know how badly you're needed, Carth. You're one of the biggest war heroes of our generation, and one of the youngest admirals in Fleet history. We're stretched for personnel and resources, and we desperately need your talent."

Her appeal to his strong sense of duty hit a nerve, but although Carth felt the familiar twinge of guilt, he knew that he was making the right choice. "Forn, the last time I chose duty over love, I regretted it. I'm not going to make that same mistake again."

As Dodonna stood, her disappointment was almost tangible. Carth hated the feeling that he was somehow letting the Republic down. "I understand you have a transport to catch. At least consider what I've said."

He nodded, unwilling to commit himself to anything more.

She held out her hand even though she was frowning. "Safe journey, and may the Force be with you, my friend."

Carth took it and said, "Thanks."

An official Fleet escort met him outside her office and transported him to docking bay 471-G. The Jedi entourage, consisting of Jolee, Vrook, Yuthura, Canderous, Min and Zaalbar, was waiting for the _Valiant_ to dock. Min's official escort, a squad of Special Ops troops armed to the teeth, also filled the bay.

He recognized the squad. Not only were they the same unit that had brought Min into custody after the Star Forge, but they had also been assigned to guard her for the last two years. Their leader, Captain Leeda, stood at the front of the group, looking alert as always. It appeared that two years of guarding the former Dark Lord of the Sith had mellowed them a bit towards Min. He was happy to see that she wasn't in binders or a neural restraint. Time had taught them that Min wasn't a threat; their job now was to defend Min from assassins more than protect the galaxy from her.

Carth joined the rest of the party; Jolee smiled wryly while Canderous chuckled, amused by his presence. Both Yuthura and Vrook looked serene and unruffled. Carth scrutinized the purple Twi'lek with a wary eye; he wasn't happy that he was going to have to work directly with a woman who had had a direct hand in destroying his son's innocence.

Exasperation replaced Min's bored expression when she saw him. Her shoulders tightened and she scowled at him when he went to stand next to her.

While they waited for the _Valiant_ to give them permission to board, Carth scanned the docking bay, looking for his son, and his disappointment was sharp and painful when he didn't see him. It must have shown on his face, because even though he knew that she was still furious with him, Min was actually concerned enough to ask, "Are you all right?"

"Yeah. I just… I was hoping that Dustil would come and see me off."

When Morgana had been alive, she always made time to bring Dustil to the docks every time he shipped out. The two of them seeing him off had always been painful, but it had meant so much to him because he knew that he had two people who loved him waiting for him. But those days were long gone.

Ever since the meeting at the Jedi Temple, Dustil had been even more resentful and aloof than normal, and had taken the news of Carth's departure with an indifference that cut Carth to the bone, even though Carth knew the indifference was just an act. Something big was bothering his son, but he simply couldn't get Dustil to talk about it, no matter how hard he tried. He'd mentioned where and when they were leaving, in the futile hope that Dustil would come to see him off. While he hadn't expected Dustil to show, it still hurt like hell that he hadn't come.

Min was quiet and sad, and Carth knew that she was beating herself up inside. "I'm sorry, Carth. I wish there was something I could do."

He decided that now was as good a time as any to start working on her obsessive guilt complex. "This is something that we have to work out between ourselves. I just wish I knew how to get through to him. Maybe when I get back, he'll be ready to tell me what's bothering him."

"Maybe you should stay," she suggested, turning her dark eyes on him.

The docking bay doors opened and the party began to move forward down the long narrow docking tunnel. Commander Leeda and his men took the lead and brought up the rear, with the Jedi entourage in between.

Carth shook his head. "That hasn't helped before — he just shuts me out when I try that. Besides, you're not getting rid of me that easily."

Her lips thinned, but she didn't say anything to that.

"Getting Dodonna to talk to me was a nice try, though."

Min let out a small, exasperated sigh. "Clearly, it failed."

He simply grinned at her and watched her smolder with anger; he'd forgotten how much fun it was to irritate her. "Got anymore tricks up your sleeve?"

Min blinked at him, and the corners of her lips twitched as she did her best to fight off an involuntary smile. "Like I'd tell you if I did."

They stepped through the boarding hatch, where Captain Mavi, the commander of the vessel, and his senior staff were waiting to greet them. He was fairly well acquainted with Captain Mavi; the man had served as one of Saul's aides for several years, and Carth knew that he was a good, solid officer.

But when the captain moved forward to welcome them to his ship, a nasty shock coursed though Carth when he saw the woman standing behind Mavi with a group of senior officers. Carth automatically responded while the introductions were being made, even though he was trying to cover the shock, shame and guilt that engulfed him when Captain Mavi presented his chief medical officer.

"Hello, Carth," she said with a warm hopeful smile that made his stomach turn.

"You've met Commander Ygdrass," Captain Mavi said.

Carth managed to recover enough to nod an affirmative, although he couldn't seem to find his voice at the moment. Min and the others looked at him as though he'd lost his mind.

Commander Ygdrass' eyes raked over him, but her expression was neutral and enigmatic. "Oh, yes. We know each other _very_ well…"

* * *

**Dureen Orbital Space Station – Four Years Ago**

The nearly empty officers' lounge smelled of cigarra smoke and liquor, but Carth barely noticed; he was just grateful that the bar was still open. Even better, at the moment it was almost empty.

Carth crushed his cigarra in the ashtray and drained his glass. He'd paid for the entire bottle of Corellian brandy so that he wouldn't be disturbed by the Twi'lek bartender. With a shaky hand and a heavy sigh, he poured himself another drink. The bottle clinked against the edge of the tumbler as Carth sought oblivion in the bottom of his glass.

Almost a week ago, Admiral Dodonna had forced him to take a few weeks leave, claiming that it was absolutely necessary for one of her most dependable captains to get some R & R. She had informed him that his fatigue was beginning to affect his decision-making abilities, and that he needed to get his anger and frustration under control, otherwise he was endangering his entire crew.

He had protested vehemently, not wanting to be sidelined while the fighting went on. He was desperate to get a chance to find and kill the man he'd been hunting for two years — the man who'd betrayed his trust and ruined his life. In the end, it had taken a direct order, forcing him to take leave.

Carth was at a complete loss as to what to do with himself during his newfound free time. He'd briefly considered taking a short trip to Coruscant to visit his brother, but he didn't think he would be able to bear his brother's domestic happiness; Ivan's family was too close to what Carth had lost. So he'd stayed on the space station, and everyday he came to the officers' bar, ignored the pitying stares of his fellow officers, and quietly drank himself blind. He always sat in the back corner table, next to the big viewing windows that overlooked the ship berths, and watched the vessels come and go, wishing like hell he was on one of them. Carth had far too much time to think about what he'd lost when the days seemed to drag past in an endless haze of boredom, frustration and pain. And today was the day he'd been dreading.

Today would have been his fifteenth wedding anniversary.

Carth pulled a small, battered wooden box out of his pocket and set it on the table with a small click. For what was probably the millionth time, he opened the box, carefully drew out the contents, and ran his callused fingers over the fine gold ankle chain. The blue sapphires set into the Telosian wedding anklet winked in the dim light of the bar. At the time, it had cost him a year's pay to buy. Carth could still see Morgana blushing, a brilliant but dazed smile on her face, as she stood barefoot in the ceremonial wedding circle. He'd knelt before her and fastened it around her ankle, and she'd never taken it off. A rescue worker had returned it to him, along with a few other personal effects she'd been carrying, before they'd burned her body along with the rest of the Telosian dead.

He stared at the jewelry as though he could summon her by sheer force of will if he concentrated hard enough, and drank his brandy, trying to fill the lonely, empty nothingness inside him. Carth had sunk into a warm, brandy-soaked haze when she somehow appeared before him, tentatively taking a seat next to him. For a wild second, he thought that it was Morgana, even though he knew that was impossible; the long blonde hair and the generous curves of the woman next to him were similar to his wife's. He dropped the anklet into the box and stuffed it into his pocket, ignoring her polite but curious glance.

Lieutenant Kali Ygdrass favored him with a warm smile. "Hello, Captain Onasi."

Kali had served under him for several years aboard his ship, the _Intrepid_, as a medical officer, until she transferred a year ago. Her service, while exemplary, had also been very awkward. Lieutenant Ygdrass was easily ten years his junior, and had a rather obvious crush on him, which was coupled with a bad case of hero worship. Although she seemed like a nice person, it had been a huge relief when she had been promoted and transferred off his ship.

"You don't have to call me that anymore. I'm not your commanding officer, and we're not on duty." It came out gruffer than he'd intended.

"Carth, then." She said his name like she was testing out the flavor of it, and she settled back into the seat next to him.

Carth sighed, too tired and too drunk to come up with a polite way to ask her to leave, but she didn't give him the chance, instead burying him in an avalanche of small talk. She told him what she'd been doing since she'd transferred off his ship, and news about mutual comrades-in-arms, and despite himself, he slowly began to relax. For several hours they drank together and reminisced about old times on his ship, and Carth felt his emptiness ease a bit. She was pretty and funny and easy to talk to, and when Carth finally glanced at the chrono, he was surprised to see that it was late into the night. There was an awkward pause in the conversation, and both of them were at a loss as to what to say.

He cleared his throat. "Well, it's late. I should…"

"Yeah, me too."

They both rose and walked out of the bar, heading for the residential wing. They reached her quarters first.

What she said next caught him completely off guard. She blushed, touched his chest and asked, "Would you like to come in?"

Carth stared at her, shocked that there was a big part of him that did. She was pretty and attractive, and he was tired of feeling empty. The thought of facing this night of all nights by himself was suddenly unbearable. Guilt and grief battled the need to not be alone.

He looked down at her hand on his chest. "I…uh…I'm not sure that's a good idea."

"Let me help you, Carth. You don't have to be alone tonight."

She took his hand; it was soft and warm. He looked down at her earnest face, and tried to ignore the way she was looking at him. Warning bells went off in his brain, and a part of him knew that this was a very bad idea.

_She's had a crush on you for years. All she sees is a shining Republic hero. This is wrong._

But the other part of him couldn't bear the thought of spending yet another endless night staring at the ceiling, aching for his wife. Kali was attractive, and she looked like Morgana, and he was tired of feeling empty. So he nodded silently, and as she led him inside her quarters, he tried not to think about how he was betraying his wife.

For a few hours Carth lost himself in Kali's arms and her bed, desperately trying to feel something other than an empty void. Carth refused to spend the night, despite her hurt looks and pleading words.

But every night for almost a week, he went to her seeking oblivion, and every night he hated himself for it.

Unsurprisingly, it ended badly.

Carth could feel the weight of her gaze on his back as he pulled his trousers on, and he flushed under her scrutiny.

"I was thinking that maybe tonight you could stay," Kali suggested hesitantly. She rose out of bed, wrapped her arms around him, and pressed her cheek against his back. "We could get breakfast in the morning, and then later we could do something together."

The hopeful tenor of her voice cut him to the bone, and he knew that he had to end this now, before he really hurt her. Gently, Carth untangled her arms from his waist and turned to face her— and his gut clenched because he could tell from the look on her face that it was far too late.

He tried to mitigate the damage he had done anyway. "Kali, this has to stop. This isn't fair to you."

Her face fell and she backpedaled quickly. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean upset you."

"Don't apologize. It's not you… it's me." He winced at the utter lameness of that line, wishing he could come up with something better, something that could explain to her how hollow and broken he was, but he couldn't seem to find the words.

She frantically tried to get him to stay. "We don't have to do something. We can just stay here and — "

_And I can use your body, while I pretend that you're my wife and try to forget my pain for a little while?_

Carth cut her off, the bitter bile of self-loathing crawling up the back of his throat. "I can't give you what you deserve. I'm using you."

She began to tremble. "I don't see it that way."

He couldn't understand how she could be so blind.

_It's Ana's name I cry out every night, not yours…_

But saying that out loud would just be too cruel, even if it was painfully obvious, so he repeated himself and tried to make her understand. "I'm using you, and it's not right."

She watched him in broken silence as he quickly pulled the rest of his clothing on.

Carth looked her in the eye and forced himself to face what he had done. The words seemed so inadequate. "I… I'm sorry."

He didn't know what else to say that wouldn't make it worse, so he ducked his head and walked out the door, thoroughly disgusted with himself.

* * *

Dinner was a very tense affair.

Captain Mavi had insisted on inviting the entire Jedi entourage to dinner in his private conference room. Min suspected that the honor had more to do with Carth's war hero reputation and retired admiral status than the captain's desire to honor his Jedi guests.

She didn't particularly care, since eating in the mess hall was simply out of the question for her. When she had been in the custody of the Fleet, she had frequently taken her meals in her cell-like quarters. The one time she'd been allowed to eat with the crew of Dodonna's flagship, one of the marines stationed on the ship had pulled out a blaster and tried to kill her. She'd found out later that he was from Telos, and that his entire family had died in the attack.

The private had been easily disarmed by Bastila, and later court-martialed. Min had asked Dodonna to let him go free, thinking that it was the height of hypocrisy for this man to stand trial when she herself had killed millions. But Dodonna had been adamant that he be punished, pointing out that she couldn't allow his insubordination to stand. The kid had been sentenced to ten years on a prison planet.

So, unsurprisingly, Min was used to causing anger and tension in those around her; being a former Sith Lord tended to have that effect on people. But she was fairly certain that, for once, she wasn't the cause, at least not directly.

A lot of the tension was caused by the fact that most of the people sitting at the dinner table couldn't stand each other. Jolee seemed to have some kind of silent feud going on with Vrook. Although they were both their usual ornery selves outwardly, they seemed to snap at each other more than usual, in extremely personal and terribly vicious ways.

Their host, Captain Mavi, was distinctly uncomfortable in the presence of a former Mandalorian general. Canderous, of course, picked up on this immediately, and began to quiz Captain Mavi on his exploits during the Mandalorian Wars. The captain barely disguised his contempt, answering all of Canderous' questions tersely, which just prodded the Mandalorian on. Min sent him a warning glance, which he completely ignored, until finally Yuthura stepped in and took over the conversation. Canderous seemed to find this very amusing, and allowed the purple Twi'lek, who seemed to dislike Canderous intensely herself, to change the subject.

And then there was Carth. On top of being frosty to Yuthura and barely tolerant of Canderous, he was acting really strangely. She watched him push his food around his plate as guilt, shame, and misery swarmed around him, and it seemed to be focused on the woman sitting next to him. The ship's chief medical officer kept trying to start a conversation with him, and while Carth was doing his best to be casual, Min could tell that he wanted to bolt and run.

Concerned and extremely curious, Min ate her nerf steak and studied Commander Ydgrass. The medical officer was curvaceous, blonde and very pretty. As she sized up the commander, she kept telling herself that Carth's misery was none of her business.

After a minute or so, Min realized who the woman was.

_Min clutched Carth's shoulder as she came slowly back to reality. She knew that she must look entirely wild, all panting and sweaty and naked, but she felt glorious._

_Carth kissed her again with one of his amazing bone-melting, soul-scorching kisses, before scooping her up off the desk and carrying her to the leather couch. With a grateful grunt, he sank into it, cradling her on his lap. Min snuggled into him, resting her head on his broad shoulder, amazed that they had finally done what they'd been dancing around since Taris._

"_Wow," he said, finally breaking the silence between them. He looked down at her. "So, do you still think I'm wholesome?"_

_Min looked up at him, laughing. "Yeah." At his indignant look she added, "But wholesome can be pretty damn sexy, Onasi. You're amazing."_

_He gave her a grin that made her heart do a funny little flip, and once again she was astonished that she could love someone as much as she loved him. _

"_I was inspired, gorgeous." Carth kissed her forehead. "Actually, I was afraid that I might be a little rusty. It's been awhile."_

_Min had to know. She reached across him, enjoying the feel of her dark skin sliding against his space-pale chest, picked up her untouched wine from the end table, asked, "How long?"_

"_Two-and-a-half years."_

_She choked on the swallow of wine she had just taken. When she'd stopped coughing, she said, "And here I was bitter because it had been five months." _

_She still couldn't believe it. "Two-and-a-half years? Really? That's awful! I knew you felt guilty, but I thought that you must have…two-and-a-half years?" She shook her head; the very thought was incomprehensible._

_That was when he told her about his brief and ill-fated affair with a Fleet medical officer. Min didn't need her Jedi senses to sense how guilty and ashamed he still felt._

"_Carth, that doesn't make you a bad man." She looked away, because she had to ask, but she wasn't sure she wanted to hear the answer. "I hope that you don't feel guilty about this."_

_He was painfully honest. "I do," he said, and her stomach dropped to her feet. He cupped her chin and turned her to face him. "But it's because you're different, Min. You're the only woman other than Morgana that I…uh…"_

_He gave up on talking, instead kissing her again until she was dizzy and breathless. But when they came up for air Carth immediately stuck his foot into his mouth. "Min, do you have anybody. Uh, do you have anyone waiting for you when you get back?"_

_Wounded that he could think that she was that callus and shallow she simply stared at him as she asked. "Do you think that if I had a serious lover, that I would be sitting on your lap, naked? I would have told you!"_

_Carth backpedaled, realizing that he'd insulted her. "I'm sorry, I just-"_

_Min's black eyes flashed in anger. "What kind of person do you think I am?" She pushed away and started to rise._

_He grabbed her wrist to keep her from storming off. "Damn it, wait! That's not what -" Carth took a deep breath and tried again. "I think you're wonderful. I asked because I don't want there to be anyone but me."_

_Her anger evaporated instantly; she simply couldn't stay angry with him when he said things like that. "There isn't. Jax was just, well, for fun." At his dubious look she added in explanation, "He was very pretty, but not all that bright." _

_She watched amusement and jealously battle each other across his features. Fortunately, amusement won._

_Still, Min felt compelled to reassure him. "It was a good time, but it wasn't anything special," she said softly as her eyes met his._

_He searched her face intently with his honest brown eyes and asked, "Why not?"_

_Min colored in one of her very rare blushes, desperately wanting to just tell him how much she loved him, but afraid that if she did she'd scare him off. _

_She finally settled on: "Because it wasn't with you."_

_As they looked at each other, a silent understanding flowed between them, and no words were necessary. They never did manage to say it out loud, at least not until much later, but as he kissed her silly, she could feel his love flow from him, and she wrapped it around her, and it soaked her senses and into every fiber of her being. At that moment, Min figured she could die blissfully happy, and she reveled in the way he made her feel._

Min dropped her fork, and it hit her plate with a loud clatter; everyone at the table turned and stared at her. Clearing her throat, she slowly and carefully picked up her fork and resumed eating, embarrassed, and feeling like an idiot. Sharp, bitter jealousy made the food taste like sawdust. She choked down her food and tried to ignore the completely irrational and entirely unfair urge to scratch the other woman's eyes out.

She looked across the table at Carth; their eyes met and he flushed. He looked like he had just gotten caught with his hand in the cookie jar.

For the second time that night, Yuthura graciously saved the conversation, and Min sent a silent thank you in her direction.

"Captain Mavi, how long have you had this command?" Yuthura asked.

"For several years." Mavi paused and looked directly at Min, regarding her with a careful and measuring look. "I actually owe my career advancement to you."

_I bet you do._

Min figured that he'd probably made his name during what was now being called the Jedi Civil War, but strangely, she wasn't sensing any anger from him, just curiosity.

"You really don't remember me, do you?" He paused and studied her carefully. All dinner conversation stopped, and everyone's attention was riveted on the two of them.

Min blinked. She always dreaded meeting people who had known her before, because she was never quite sure what their reaction was going to be. "No, I'm sorry. I don't remember much past two-and-a-half years ago."

"I thought that the stories about your memory loss were just a cover." He set his knife and fork down precisely. "I was one of Admiral Karath's aides. I was assigned to assist you right before the battle of Dxun. I served with you until Serroco, where you assigned me to General Kor-vas."

A thousand questions popped into her mind, questions she wasn't sure she wanted to hear the answers to. Min didn't recognize the name, but she had a brief image of a striking face with enigmatic slanted eyes and a cheeky smile. "General Kor-vas?" Her effort to try to sound casual was undermined by the fact that her voice was shaking.

A name floated through her shattered memory. _Nico…_

"He was one of the Jedi who followed you. He led the assaults at the battles of Dxun, Serroco, and Malachor."

The way he said 'Malachor' caught Min's attention, and she was desperate to know more. She wasn't sure she wanted this conversation to happen in front of everyone present, but didn't think she'd get another chance.

"What happened to him? Did he… did he follow me when…" She forced herself to say it, "When I left the Republic?"

"No one knows. He was last seen at Malachor V. He didn't return with you when you came back as Darth Revan."

"What was he like? Did I know him well?"

The captain shifted uncomfortably in his chair. "Oh… well… he was charismatic, clever, resourceful, smart. We were lucky to have him."

Min wanted to ask more, a lot more, but Vrook cut in. "Leave the past in the past, Revan," he said, not even looking up from the nerf steak he was cutting.

Suspicion gnawed at Min's guts. "Do you know what happened to him?" she asked Vrook.

Their eyes met, and animosity flowed freely between them. "Nico was brash and defiant, just as you were. He returned to the Jedi Order after Malachor V and faced our judgment. He was exiled for disobeying our orders."

"You cast him out for following me?"

His answer was terse. "Yes," he said, and it was clear that he considered the matter closed.

But Min wasn't about to drop the subject now. "Even though he returned to the Council instead of betraying the Republic?"

"He made his choice and was dealt with accordingly."

Her voice rose along with her temper. "You arrogant bastards!"

Vrook lashed out at her, and even though she knew it was petty, Min was satisfied to see his temper finally snap. "We were not the ones who were arrogant, Revan. A whole generation of Jedi Knights followed you, and you destroyed them! He refused to admit that going to fight the Mandalorians was the wrong choice. We were given no alternative."

"You exiled him because he didn't agree with you? What happened to Jedi forgiveness? Did you do this to others who returned?"

"There was only _one_ who returned. The rest _you_ corrupted or killed at Malachor V."

She was stricken, but she wouldn't let him shift the blame so easily. "And if they had returned, would you have cast them out, too?" she spat.

Min watched as Vrook turned nearly purple. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath in an effort to get his temper under control. When he opened his eyes, the Jedi serenity was back… mostly.

"I am not going to discuss this with you, Revan. You have not earned the right to pass judgment on the Council."

Vrook stood and strode out of the room, leaving everyone to stare at Min. Completely livid, she stared at her food, appetite lost. She lapsed into silence, and the dinner broke up shortly thereafter, the conversation unable to recover.

* * *

Bastila meandered through the Room of a Thousand Fountains, and her steps echoed throughout the eerily silent room. The once-glorious creation that was the crown jewel of the Jedi Temple was now silent: the waters stilled in memoriam for all the Jedi who had fallen in the Mandalorian Wars, and in Malak and Revan's attempt to conquer the Republic.

The Temple was too quiet, and it wasn't entirely due to the Jedi serenity of its inhabitants. The enormous temple complex was simply too empty, the numbers of the Jedi too few. When Bastila had been a padawan, the halls had bustled with activity and purpose, but most of her contemporaries were now dead and gone. Even then there hadn't been many, since so many Knights and Masters had either left with Revan to fight against the Mandalorians, or left later to fight against Darth Revan and Darth Malak's rampaging forces. Students had been turned away because of the lack of masters, and only the very strongest and most promising had been trained. Now the Order was paying a high price.

Bastila sat on the edge of the great fountain in the center of the room, and trailed her fingers through the still waters. She used to love this room when she was a padawan, but now it brought her only pain. It was a silent, accusing reminder of her past crimes. She had caught Min in here several times since their return from the Fleet, and Bastila suspected that they both came here for the same reason.

_We come here to punish ourselves._

Intellectually, Bastila knew that this was hardly healthy, productive behavior, and that she was dangerously close to wallowing in self-pity, but it was difficult not to reflect and regret in times of peace. For the first time in many years, she actually had nothing to do, and had no duties to attend to. Unable to go anywhere outside of the Temple because of the recent lockdown, she was slowly going out of her mind.

However, she knew that was only part of the reason for her unease. She was also worried about the disturbing attacks against the Jedi Order. Bastila was still annoyed that both the Council and the Fleet had insisted that she stay behind; the Council had declared that her assistance was unnecessary, while the Fleet insisted that they didn't want their most effective weapon put in unnecessary danger. It irked Bastila to be treated as a weapon and not a person, but that was hardly new.

What was also rather disturbing was how directionless and useless she felt without Min, and she wondered if she had grown too dependent on the woman. She was beginning to realize that her entire existence was defined by other people. She was the dutiful Jedi Knight, she was the Fleet's most powerful weapon, she was Revan's bond mate, and without those people or institutions, she felt like she had no real purpose or direction.

_And that is just pathetic._

In an effort to fill her time, she had offered to help with the investigation on Coruscant, but the Council had politely but firmly told her 'no'. She was in the middle of trying to determine what she should do with herself, when she heard footsteps ring through the hall.

Bastila greeted her visitor with a smile, and she hoped that it didn't look as false as it felt. "Hello, Master Zhar."

Zhar returned her false smile with a genuine one. "Bastila, I wonder if you wouldn't mind helping me with something?"

She was so relieved to have something to do that she couldn't hide her eagerness. "Yes! Of course!" she said, inwardly cringing at how desperate she sounded.

"Excellent. I was wondering if you knew where Revan's T3 unit is. Master Kavar and I would like to use it to run a system check."

"Oh." The disappointment that he wanted T3 and not her was sharp. "I believe he's with Mission."

Against everyone's objections, Min had given T3 to Mission after the destruction of the Star Forge, and the amount of trouble that the two of them had managed to get into was nothing short of spectacular.

His eyes crinkled in concern, and Bastila flushed, embarrassed that her desperation was that obvious. "Are you all right, Bastila?"

"Yes… No… I just… I feel rather… useless." Zhar didn't say anything; he just waited patiently for her to continue. "For the first time in a long time, I don't have anything to do. I should be happy, but I don't know what to do with myself." She sighed. "I feel rather foolish."

"You're not foolish, Bastila. Your feelings are understandable."

Bastila waited for Master Zhar to tell her that she needed patience and more time in meditation. Instead, he said, "I need some help going over the data we've collected about the attacks. I would be grateful for any assistance you could give me."

Bastila hid her gibbering gratitude behind what she hoped was a mask of calm serenity, even though she knew that Zhar wouldn't be even remotely fooled.

It didn't take them long to find Mission. She was in the dining hall, surrounded by Kel, Mekel, Dustil and several other young padawans. Bastila felt an involuntary twinge of jealousy at the ease with which Mission could relate to people. It was something that she had never been able to master herself. As they approached, Bastila tried not to let her discomfort show when Dustil turned bright red and stammered out a greeting. She returned it with a curt nod, sincerely hoping that she would not be required to speak to him.

Although Mission was unhappy at being left out, she allowed them to use T3. Tee seemed to be overly eager to help, as if the droid were suffering from the same feeling of listlessness and boredom that she felt. Zhar led Bastila and T3 into one of the backrooms of the Jedi Archives, where Master Kavar was waiting for them. Bastila was very relieved when Kavar waved her into the room and didn't object to her presence.

Tee jacked himself into the nearest wall socket, directing a series of beeps and squawks at Bastila, waiting for instructions. Bastila looked at the Masters, uncertain as to what they wanted Tee to do.

"We would like a complete diagnostic done of our computer system. Specifically, we would like to know if there has been a security breach," Zhar said, taking a seat at the conference table, which was covered in datapads.

Tee beeped an affirmative and settled in to work, and Bastila tentatively joined Kavar and Zhar at the conference table. She gestured at the stack of datapads. "May I take a look?"

Kavar smiled, and Bastila couldn't help but remember how all of her classmates had sighed and mooned over handsome Master Kavar. It seemed like a lifetime ago.

_And now most of them are dead._

"Certainly," Kavar said before turning to the data that he'd been studying.

Bastila began to sort through the information the Jedi had gathered on the group that was killing Force Sensitives, but sadly, there wasn't a good deal of information to go through. She read through the security reports of the break-in at the Senator's apartments, but didn't see anything that caught her eye. The Senator's personal security force had discovered a bloodstain that didn't match the blood of any of his family members. The species had been identified as Iridonian, and they were still trying to match an identity to the sample, but so far without success.

Glancing down at the next datapad, she saw a list of the Force Sensitives that the assassins had claimed responsibility for killing. It appeared that someone had already gone through and verified that they had actually died.

The hair on the back of Bastila's neck stood on end when she read through the names. Surnames caught her attention immediately: Nita and Jayson Lamar – killed in an exploding speeder accident, Mip Lestin – killed in a back alley on Ryloth, Allonis Revan – killed by an overloading power conduit, Xenus and Martin Algwinn – freak speeder accident. Other surnames on the list screamed at her: Bandon, Vassar, Sunrider, Bindo.

She looked up at Zhar and Kavar. "This cannot be right."

"It is accurate," Kavar stated with a worried frown. "We have verified all of the names on the list."

"But most of these are relatives of active Jedi or former Sith!"

"Yes." Zhar nodded and shifted his lekku around his neck. "That's why we need T3. We are afraid that our genealogy has been compromised."

"Genealogy?" This was the first time that Bastila had heard of any such thing.

Kavar elaborated. "Whenever someone who is Force Sensitive enough to be considered for the Jedi Order is found, their immediate family is tested so that we can track their bloodlines. While Force Sensitivity is often random, as it was in your family, it can often be passed down from generation to generation. Even if the Force Sensitive is too old or refuses the training, they are entered into the databank, so that any children they have can be tested in the future."

Zhar spoke carefully, as though he didn't want to believe what he was saying. "Other than three Miralukas, all of the people on that list are relatives of active or former Jedi. It is possible that some of the names were discovered through public records, but not all of them could have been found that way, which is why we think that they must have somehow gotten access to the Archives."

Bastila sat in silence, trying to work out the ramifications of this while T3 worked, and hoping that the Masters were mistaken. But an hour later, T3 confirmed their worst fears. The Masters left to call an emergency Council session, leaving Bastila and T3 to try to trace where the breach in the system had come from.

* * *

Yuthura gingerly took the metal circlet Minuet handed to her; she didn't want to touch it, but she knew it needed to be done. She tried to suppress a shudder as she slipped the cold metal circlet over her forehead, and nausea almost overwhelmed her when the Force winked out of existence. She couldn't tell if it was her imagination or not, but the nearly empty training room seemed to become deathly quiet.

Minuet's sympathetic grimace swam before her disoriented eyes. "Rather unpleasant, isn't it?"

Yuthura focused on controlling her breathing, and fought the instinct that told her to panic and hyperventilate, waiting for her body to adjust to the absence of the power that had always thrummed beneath the surface.

Minuet ran a hand through her hair and chewed on her lip thoughtfully. "Although it probably won't be necessary with an entire squad of special troops following us everywhere, we should probably set up a training schedule. We need to be prepared, just in case."

"It might be a good idea if we enlisted Carth's and Canderous' help, especially with blasters, which all of us should start to carry." It was a reasonable suggestion, but Jolee delivered it almost gleefully to Minuet, who rolled her eyes and scowled back at him.

"Fine," Minuet snapped. "I'll talk to _Canderous_ about it."

Yuthura sighed. They were only two days into the six-day hyperspace journey to the Rakatan planet, and she was already tired of all the tension and drama, even though she wasn't quite sure what the source of it all was. She stood, attempting to get used to the feeling of moving without the Force. It was amazing how even rudimentary things like walking and running became difficult.

They only had one circlet, and the Council had been loathe to part with even that one, but Minuet had nagged and browbeaten them into allowing them to take it for training.

Yuthura started with something simple, pulling out a vibroblade, because lightsabers were too difficult to use without the Force, at least without more practice. She began to go through the Shii-Cho lightsaber form, clumsily at first, but she was determined to focus and make it work.

Minuet started to spar with Jolee using practice blades, and Yuthura could tell that she was rusty and in serious need of sparring practice. She wondered how Minuet could have gotten so out of practice, but then she realized that the Fleet probably didn't allow the former Dark Lord of the Sith to keep her lightsaber skills sharp.

After a half hour or so, Minuet looked at the door. "I should go. There is going to be a shift change soon, and I should get back to my quarters before the crew comes." Minuet excused herself, and Jolee went with her. She headed to the door, where a pair of Special Ops guards flanked her and followed her out the door.

Because she was wearing the circlet, Yuthura didn't sense Canderous' approach. He had a bag of gear in one hand, which looked very heavy.

He sneered at Minuet's retreating form. "She could cut every single one of them down. Dodonna knows it, the ops team knows it, and yet they insist on making a show of it, and she allows them to lead her around like a dog."

Yuthura kept her face carefully blank; as a rule she detested Mandalorians, and she wasn't entirely sure why Minuet allowed this one to stay around. She knew that he had helped defeat Malak, but she resented the fact that she was now forced to deal with him. She took the circlet off and wrapped it up carefully before placing it in the special carrier, since she was uncomfortable being around him without her Jedi senses.

They watched the door shut behind Minuet and her guards. Canderous turned his appraising gray eyes on her. "You don't like me very much, do you?"

Yuthura simply looked at him, and decided to be as blunt as he was. "No. I don't."

Canderous nodded, as though he had expected both her opinion and her honesty. He didn't look the least bit angry or offended, simply curious. "Is it because I'm Mandalorian, or just my own charming personality?"

"I don't know you well enough to dislike you personally."

He dropped his bag of gear on a nearby bench and began to rifle through it. It was full of sheathed weapons, blasters, shields and many things that she simply couldn't identify. From the way he was digging, it looked like whatever he was searching for was at the bottom of the large bag.

"Anything in particular about us Mandalorians that you find offensive?" he asked.

The training room doors slid open, and crew members began to wander through. Almost every single one scowled at the large Mandalorian. Canderous ignored them completely.

She crossed her arms under her breasts. "Well, other than the fact that you come from a brutish culture that conquers people for no better reason than honor, I suppose it is the Mandalorian practice of slaving that I find the most offensive."

"Ah. You were a slave," he said, as though it was no real surprise to him.

"I was a lot of things. But yes… once I was a slave." She turned, starting to go through her lightsaber forms again, not wanting to discuss this any further with him.

The appraising look he gave her made her skin crawl, but she remained outwardly composed, refusing to allow the Mandalorian the satisfaction of seeing her profound discomfort.

"To a Hutt? As a joygirl?" he said.

"Of course." The bitterness was difficult to keep out of her voice. "I'm a female Twi'lek. What other use could I possibly have?"

He went back to searching through his bag, grunting in satisfaction when he found a roll of tape. "None to a Hutt. They are very short-sighted creatures in many ways."

She knew she shouldn't continue this conversation, but she couldn't dismiss her old resentment so easily. "I suppose the Mandalorians would have found a better use for me."

"Definitely," he stated as he started to tape up his hands. "You would have been too skilled to waste as a whore. Besides, sex between Mandalorians and slaves was highly discouraged. While some slaves were used that way, it was not common."

Yuthura indicated her skepticism with one arched eyebrow.

"It was simply a matter of practicality. We were encouraged to breed among Mandalorian women, so that our numbers and our might would grow. Only pureblood Mandalorian males were allowed the chance to become warriors."

"And the women?"

His answer surprised her. "They were not allowed to partake in battle, because they were too important. They bore the future of our people." He laughed at the expression on her face. "The fighting was the province of the males, but the females were in charge of everything else: production, education, economics, social structure. It is not like they were chained and barefoot in our kitchens, waiting on us hand and foot."

"No. That's what your slaves were for."

He smirked. "Yeah. Although usually we didn't have to chain them."

She made a disgusted sound, and it seemed to amuse him greatly.

"We also used them as support troops during battle, sometimes in key positions. Many slaves were considered valued members of the clan, and some even gained enough honor to earn their freedom."

"How generous of you," she snapped.

The infuriating bastard had the gall to laugh. "I'm not looking for your approval. I could care less about what you think."

"Then why are we having this conversation?"

"Because anyone who claws their way out of Hutt slavery by killing their master, and almost becomes headmaster of the Korriban Academy, is someone who is worthy of my time. Besides, who else am I going to talk to? Onasi hates my guts, Revan is too busy with her idiot mating dance with Onasi, I can't speak Shyriiwook, Vrook glares at me, and Jolee has been keeping to himself lately."

"Idiot mating dance?" Yuthura couldn't help but be a bit curious. Minuet hadn't confided to her, although something was obviously bothering her deeply. And from the way that she and Admiral Onasi looked at each other, it was clear that he was the focal point of her pain. Sometimes, Yuthura felt like she was stumbling around blind in a minefield.

"Oh yeah. They used to be lovers, but now she's crippled by useless guilt and he's screwing off, wasting time worrying and being understanding. He should just haul her off to the nearest broom closet and not let her out until she sees things his way, and she should just give up the game, because it is only a matter of time anyway before she caves."

Yuthura stared at him, wondering if he was actually serious. "I can't believe that you actually care about what happens between them."

He shrugged. "I don't. If she wants to martyr herself and make both of them miserable, that's her business. But I've got five hundred credits in Mission's betting pool that says she caves in less than a month."

Her eyes went from narrow skepticism to wide surprise. "There's a betting pool?"

He grinned down at her. "Yeah, you want in?"

* * *

Master Quatra finished her lecture on Outer Rim economics in the post-Exar Kun galaxy, and Dustil barely managed to suppress a sigh of relief when she dismissed the class and stepped down from the podium. He'd spent the entire lecture in a bored haze, teetering on the edge of dozing off. Dustil gathered up his datapads quickly and hurried out of the small lecture hall, before she could stop him and find something to lecture him about.

An anxious-looking Mekel stopped him just outside the doorway. "Hey, do you know where Mission is?"

_Like I care._

"No."

Mekel scratched the stubble on his face. Dustil wondered if he was trying to grow a beard or something.

"Damn. I've been looking for her all day."

"Maybe she doesn't want to see you." Dustil couldn't keep the malicious glee out of his voice, but he instantly regretted it when he saw Mekel's face twist in anger.

"You know… you can be a real prick sometimes, Dustil," Mekel spat as he stormed off.

Dustil watched him go, even though he knew he should go after him and apologize. He knew he'd been a complete jerk ever since he'd overheard his father's conversation with Revan, but he just didn't feel up to apologizing at the moment. Resolving to do it later, Dustil headed to his quarters, deciding to skip dinner, since he really didn't feel like playing nice today.

He decided to go back to his room and lose himself in his artwork, which seemed to be the only thing that gave him peace of mind lately. But when he reached the entrance to the living quarters, he almost collided with Mission, who was practically running out the door.

"Hey, watch it!" Dustil snapped. Other than Revan, Mission was the last person he wanted to see.

She didn't even look up at him when she muttered, "Whatever, Sithboy."

Dustil wanted to yell at her, to take his misery, frustration, and anger out on her, but she looked so sad and miserable that he actually asked, "What's wrong?" before he could stop himself.

The look she gave him was full of contempt. "Like you care."

Mission tried to step around him, and he noticed that she looked like she was headed somewhere outside of the Jedi Temple. She had a flashy purple outfit on and a duffle bag slung over her shoulder.

"Where are you going?"

Her head-tails twitched and she looked like she wanted to smack him. "None of your business!"

More than anything, Dustil wanted to step aside and let her pass; he really didn't want to get involved in whatever she was up to, but the emotions that were pouring off her were so mixed up that it actually made him pause. His father's request brought his unwanted conscience kicking and screaming to the front of his mind.

Before his father had left to chase after Revan, he'd asked Dustil to keep an eye out for Mission. Dustil, still furious about what he'd witnessed between his father and Revan, had blown him off. But it occurred to him now that his father might have had a point when he'd said that, other than Revan, Carth, and Zaalbar, Mission didn't have anyone looking out for her, at least anyone who was on the planet at the moment. And despite what she said, she was still a kid.

He also couldn't stop thinking about how disappointed Master Zhar would be if he gave into his anger and lashed out at the girl, or ignored someone who was so obviously upset. So Dustil repeated his question. "Where are you going, Mission?"

She glared at him. "Out."

"Out where?"

"Not that it's any business of yours, but I'm going to the Yemari district to see my brother."

That district was deep in the heart of the underlevels of Coruscant, and was notorious for being one of the roughest and rowdiest places on the entire city planet.

"You can't go down there by yourself. It's too dangerous."

Her lip curled and she sneered at him. "Hey, I'm not a backwater hick like you. So frack off, and get out of my way."

It was hard, but Dustil ignored the jibe. He knew that his father would never forgive him if he let Mission go by herself. While he wanted to believe that he didn't care about his father's opinion, he knew deep down that he still did. Worse, from everything he'd heard, Griff was a real core-slime. He couldn't just let Mission go down there by herself.

_Besides, you're supposed to be a Jedi, and Jedi don't let little girls go into slums to visit their no-good brothers by themselves, even if the little girl is a pain in the ass._

"I'm coming with you."

"No way! I'm going to have enough trouble getting there without a big, doofy nerf-herder like you tagging along like a lost kinrath pup. Get your kicks somewhere else."

Her words were sharp, but Dustil could sense her desperation, and he knew that she didn't want to visit her brother by herself. There was no way he was going to let her go by herself now.

"Too bad, because I'm coming."

"You can't leave, anyway. They're not going to let you out of here," she pointed out, and Dustil realized that she was testing his resolve to come.

"They don't have to. We'll leave the same way that we always do to sneak out of here." Astonishingly, relief and gratitude began to pour from her, even though she was still glaring at him. More importantly, she stopped her token protests, apparently accepting that he wasn't going to take 'no' for an answer.

He ran his hand through his hair and began to make plans. "We'll meet up with Mekel and Kel at dinner, and-"

"No!" Mission flushed, and she shocked him again by saying, "I mean, Mekel and Kel are nice and all, but I'd rather it were just us."

Dustil's ears turned pink as he wondered if Mission had a crush on him, and was just trying to get him alone. Panic mounted. Mission was a lot more like a really annoying little sister. The whole idea of them together was just… gross.

"Uh…" he sputtered.

She killed that thought with her next statement, to his intense relief. "I mean, this is kind of a private… family thing."

Dustil didn't quite know what to say about that. "Oh… okay." He looked down at his conspicuous brown robes. "I'll change and then we'll go, all right?"

"Okay." She almost smiled at him, and it wasn't nearly as offensive as it usually was.

As they made plans for that night, Dustil tried not to think about how much trouble he was going to get into if he got caught.

* * *

Zhar watched Dustil and Mission disappear into one of the service vents underneath the massive Jedi garden. The service tunnel had been used by padawans to sneak out since before Zhar's time, and in his youth he'd used it to sneak out rather frequently. Revan and Malak had used it, too, and now it seemed that Dustil and his friends were the next generation keeping the tradition alive.

Dustil slid the grate back into place, and Zhar hoped that he was not making a big mistake by not stopping Dustil. While it was risky to allow his padawan to leave with all of the assassins out there, Zhar felt that stopping him would be far riskier to Dustil. The boy had so much anger and resentment inside him towards his father, towards Revan, towards Mission and towards the world in general, that his fall was practically guaranteed unless something changed drastically. This was the first time he'd ever seen Dustil reach out to Mission, and he was hoping that the girl would be the catalyst for that change. He made a mental note to have that tunnel sealed after Dustil returned.

Zhar turned from the ventilation grate, and began to stroll through the gardens. The cultured beauty of the gardens, cultivated by countless generations, was completely lost on him, because he couldn't stop thinking about the latest Council session. He took a seat on one of the simple stone benches, and waited. It didn't take long for Master Vandar to join him, and Zhar wasn't surprised that he was the one to approach him, since the small Jedi Master was his closest friend.

"You were very upset in today's Council session," Vandar began. "I hope that upon reflection, you will see the wisdom of our actions."

"I can see the pragmatism of your decision," Zhar admitted, "but our members deserve to know."

"If it becomes known that the assassins are attacking their families, then the Order will be lost. We will be spread too thin. The Jedi will go to protect their families, and leave themselves and the Order vulnerable."

"Or maybe they'll save their families. How can we place our Order above the lives of complete innocents?"

Vandar didn't answer him, although Zhar hadn't really expected him to. The arguments had been rehashed, over and over, and there was nothing new to add.

"What are you going to do?" Vandar asked after a while. "Are you going to tell them?"

"I don't know."

Actively defying the Council seemed unthinkable, yet he wasn't sure that he could remain silent about this. It made him feel ill just thinking about it, and he wondered if Revan and Malak had felt this way when they had made their choice to leave.

Zhar couldn't stop thinking about the last time he'd seen his former student. Malak had been so earnest, so determined to do the right thing, so completely in love with Revan, that nothing Zhar said had made an impact. But he knew that Malak had been torn up by the decision to leave, and he had asked his former Master to join them. Although in his heart Zhar had wanted to join them, he had refused, and the last meeting between Master and student had ended in anger and bitterness. Zhar had trusted in the wisdom of the Council, and Malak had fallen. He couldn't help but feel that if he followed the Council's wishes this time, and ignored what his heart was telling him, the results would be just as disastrous as before.

The practical side of Zhar knew that the Council had a legitimate point. But he thought of his padawan, Dustil, who had already been lied to by the Sith. His mother's family was on that list, and he knew that it was wrong not to tell him.

"Please give it some time. Let us come up with a plan."

"I will… meditate on it."

Vandar turned to leave, realizing that Zhar wasn't going to promise more than that. He left with a warning.

"Think carefully, old friend. Your actions may determine the fate of our Order."

* * *

Once again, an absolutely enormous thank you to my good twin xenzen, who was instrumental in helping me take the complete chaos that this chapter was and turning it into something coherent and readable. She's also done some fantastic sketches of Carth and Morgana as they appear in Common Ground. Links to the sketches will hopefully appear on my author profile page (as soon as I can figure out how to insert hyperlinks properly…grar). At any rate, they are over at kotorfanmedia, so go check them out and tell her how wonderful they are.

Also, thanks for the feedback everyone, as always it is very helpful to hear what worked or didn't work from you all.

Dinah: Thanks for the review. You're right, there is definitely more to Min's motivations than she's said so far. There is no deep dark secret or anything, more like psychological hang-ups and issues that will be explored in later chapters.

Kosiah: I have an entire story mapped out in my mind about the whole Jolee/Nayama/Vrook triangle (it's been nagging me for months and months and months). I'm not sure how much of it I can fit into this story because what I have in mind is a bit too big to fit well here, so someday I may have to write it (someday when I'm not writing two stories at once…Heh).

Bluecaterpillar: Thanks for the review. I currently don't have any original fiction. _From the Ashes_ was my first attempt at creative writing ever, and at the moment I'm having too much fun writing my two kotor stories. But who knows… maybe sometime in the future I'll be inclined to write some original stuff.


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